Title: Growing Up
Rating: T
Summary: Kingdom Hearts/Peter Pan Crossover. The obnoxious blond boy may be able to fly, but he always underestimated the cleverness of Capn' Hook...AkuRoku, AU, Oneshot.
Hey ya'll. So. Funny story. Today I was watching Peter Pan (the non animated one), and the blond kid who plays Peter looks exactly like Roxas, if Roxas was real and dressed entirely in leafy little spandex. And then there were these scenes when Hook would be snarky and evil and mean, and my (dirty, dirty) mind went, "Hey. I could work with that."
So I sat down and wrote this. In like an hour. For the sake of all our sanity's, let's just pretend Axel/Hook is not a creepy old man, but the same age as game-Axel. It'll help me sleep better at night.
Sometimes I wonder if I really am insane.
Hook can't sleep.
Maybe it's the warm jungle air, maybe the restless muttering of his crew above him. The walls of the ship are paper thin and he can hear every one of their drunken fantasies. Captain's quarters, his ass. But, he reasons, raking a hand through his salt-encrusted hair, it wasn't like he could do anything about it. He had been stuck on this goddamn ship for god knows how long, with a long future ahead, as endless as the sea vanishing to the horizon.
Never, never, neverland...
"Fuck it," he muttes mutinously. "Fuck them all."
He turns over, scratches at his sweaty side. There will be no sleeping now.
The other pirates look surprised when Hook barges up onto deck, still shirtless and maybe a little drunk. They still don't know what to make of him; wild red hair, dark smudges at the corners of his eyes and those cunning little tattoos on his cheekbones. They are dress-up pirates, useless with swords and still wearing eye-patches, the freaks.
Still, eternity has seen fit to provide him with these lugs. So he'll use them 'till he wrings them dry.
"Off," he says sharply.
One scratches stupidly at his headband. "But, Capn'...we on the watch..."
Axel's eyes roll heavenward. "You'll be on the fucking rigging if you're still here when I open my eyes. Upside down, legs tied, pecker out for all the birdies to perch on. One...two..."
He opens his eyes to silence and the dark hum of the moonlight, over a blissfully empty deck.
Hook wanders over to the railing, peers down at the calm ocean below, the dark frothy waves lapping sensuously at the bow. The waters here are never stormy and never real; they slap around like dead fish, flat and unconvincing.
He had used to be a sailor once, long ago; he's still young, so maybe only for a year or so before. He can hardly remember it. He supposes he must have loved it, because he can still feel the stirrings when he looks at the boat, his ship at night; dark, shadows slinking in every corner, the mast and the riggings intricate and softly curling above him. The moon and the stars are always unnaturally brilliant here; like the ceiling of a child's bedroom. Axel supposes that is the point.
"Fuckity fuck fuck," he says, showing off his higher learning.
His hand is hurting.
The doorway to the mess is thrown open and Smee stumbles out, drunk off his ass and hiccuping. Alex notes with disgust that his nose is running like a faucet.
"Hey, Capn'!" Hiccup. "Not so wise, sirrah, to be out alone on deck, not with that little fairy kid flying about, sir, it's no good, sir."
Axel gives him his best shit-eating grin. "Think I can handle it, Smee. Thanks."
Smee beams, apparently under the impression that he has given out some rather key advice. "S'no problem, sir! Sir, would you like to come in for some rum, sir? S'cold out here," he slurs, snot dripping sluggishly down his face.
Hook wrinkles his nose.
"Ummm...no, thanks. I'm just going to enjoy the fresh air."
"Wise, sir, very wise," Smee says, and sashays back through the doors.
Axel sighs, long and heavy. It is kind of cold. Maybe he should put a shirt on, or something.
The flat ocean gurgles tiredly behind him. He can smell their campfires, now, and see the little island where all the unwashed brats cuddle up and suck their thumbs and dream about mommies and daddies left behind. Then they'll wake up and run all over their little playground like so many ants, happily confident that they own the place.
"Brats," he bites.
"Now, I don't think that's fair."
Every hair on Axel's head stands on end, and he whirls around, automatically looking to the sky.
And there he is, the king of the toddlers, perched lark-like on the highest strip of rigging.
"Roxas," he hisses.
"No, Tinkerbell," the boy snorts, shooting down amid a smattering of rainbow sparkles. "Put on a few pounds, though."
Hook has regained a little bit of his cool; he stands up and looks haughtily at his nemesis, ignoring the painful throb where his hand used to be. "It's always nice to have a visit from you, Roxas," he says instead, his voice slyly snaking out from beneath his teeth. "Brought an extra dose of sparkles and rainbows with you today, I see."
Roxas grins; never a lot, just a little at the corners of his mouth and in those effortlessly blue eyes. He draws his sword in one swift motion and thumbs it lazily, drawing the point across Hook's bare, moonlit skin.
"Obviously unarmed," he says quietly, taking in Axel's loose pants and bare torso. "Sloppy. Wouldn't expect it of you."
"Au contraire," Axel says, ever the asshole. "But you don't want to know where I'm hiding it. Makes it a bit hard to sit down," he says, tossing him a lewd wink.
He wonders, sometimes, if the ever-boy even understands half of the jokes, but there is something quietly adult in Roxas sometimes, something like a shadow that passes over him. It's why he's their leader; not because he is the most boyish but because he is wise enough to stay that way, a wisdom that is not child-like at all.
The sword kisses his jugular, the cold press of steel. Roxas idly turns his wrist; it traces his teardrop tattoos. So close he can smell the steel.
"Murder of the innocents?" Hook says calmly, his hands firmly on the railing. "I would think that a step up from hide-and-seek, or whatever it is you do all day."
"Oh, I would hardly call you innocent," the boy says in his almost-sweet voice. His mess of blond hair is shining in the moonlight. "In fact, I seem to recall you almost killed me on numerous occasions."
"Fat lot of trouble that was," Axel says. "The island loves you, the waters love you, this whole fucking place was created to be your playground. The one time I get close to slitting that sweet pale throat of yours and a fucking CROCODILE jumps out of the water and makes a SNACK out of my HAND."
Roxas shrugs. His thin body is so still; the razor point of the steel still squarely balanced against Hook's throat. "Karma."
"Funny, because I would say it was playing favorites."
"Maybe, maybe," Roxas says, boyish wickedness darting in to taint his smile. He even cants his hip, mockingly. "Can you blame it, though? I mean, who would you prefer; a fun loving boy or a grouchy old pirate?"
"I'm not that much older than you," Axel bites out, still keenly aware of the blade of the sword, watching the playful way Roxas is moving now, so secure in his ability. "But I, unlike you, have the ability not to sound like a girl when I talk."
"Yeah?" Roxas says, icy eyes flashing with childish annoyance. "Bet you can't do this!"
And the sword is gone and he's running, whooping, doing a backflip in midair and shining like a freaking Fourth of July parade.
Axel smiles, showing every one of his teeth. Stupid kids.
Roxas makes a funny little, "oomph," sound when Axel grabs him around the waist and bears him down, slamming him into the deck. His little body is writhing, struggling; but this is another advantage of age, Axel is stronger and bigger and can pin the little thing beneath him, blinking because the damn fairy dust is getting in his eyes.
When he looks down, Roxas' eyes are wide and panicked, his freckles standing out sharply from his angular face. Axel grits his teeth and grinds down on the boy's wrist, immobilizing him.
Roxas spits in his face.
Axel just grins.
Five minutes, two punches, and one bruised rib later Roxas is glaring daggers at the Capn', trussed up, insect-like, to the mast. Only his face and his fingers are unbound, and he presses both hands flat against the wood. He is very pale, his lips curled into a defiant sneer.
"Helllloooooo," Axel says, drawing out the word with pleasure. "What have we here? A little boy caught on his own, with no grubby-nosed friends to help him?"
"Let me go," Roxas says quietly.
"Don't think so," Axel says, running his fingers over his newly acquired sword. "No, I don't think that would do at all."
"You know what happens if you kill me," Roxas intones haughtily. "Tick, tick, tick, right, Hook?"
Axel has to admire the balls on this one. "No. I won't kill you."
"Good, because you know what will happen if..."
Axel shuts him up by pressing the shining tip of the blade directly over Roxas' lips. The soft pink flesh there quivers, then falls still.
"Good boy," he whispers, drawing the shining point, tracing the seam of the boys lips, back and forth. "You know when to shut up..."
Roxas does something unexpected then; he snarls and opens his mouth, biting down hard on the steel. Axel watches, fascinated, as a tiny river of blood snakes down the boy's chin.
"Brave," he says, and watches as Roxas' back straightens a little, all boyish pride. "But stupid. So stupid. What should I do with you, I wonder...leave you trussed up like a Christmas turkey, for your little flock to find?"
"We can cut a deal," Roxas interrupts brokenly. "I'll leave you alone for a week, a month...I'll send you some bananas, or pixie dust..."
Axel stops and looks at the boy; trapped, blond hair glowing in the moonlight, slender planes of blue and gray broken on his skin. Roxas' eyes follow him; sharply laced, sea-colored. But different than the sea; not flat but dense, deep and moved by real currents, eyes capable of storms.
"You're not as young as you look," Axel says shrewdly. "I don't think boys know much about wheeling and dealing. You're a pro, kid."
The blood is still on his lips, and Roxas licks them distractedly.
"No..." Hook says, eyes locked on the sight. "Not that young after all."
It all wells up in an instant; the frustration of the fake world he is trapped in, the idiocy of it; like being trapped in a children's storybook where people frown at sarcasm or swearing, the the flat puffy clouds on the horizon and Pan's little gang flittering about, giggling, giggles like bubbles, light and airless, where he is so alone...
Roxas is staring at him. Roxas, with something like sadness swirling, mist-like, in his eyes.
"I think it's time to grow up," Axel hisses, and drops the sword with a clatter.
The first kiss is anything but tender; it's all about Axel and his fury, his want, his desire; pressing up against the boy, hands on his face, pushing into him, through him. Roxas goes wide-eyed and then struggles, feet beating hard against the pirate's shins, but then something like a shudder runs through him and he goes limp; not responding, just limp.
Axel steps back, chest heaving in the moonlight, and grins; shark-like, crazy. "Man, Roxas. Why aren't we friends?"
"Because I hate you," Roxas says breathlessly.
"Yeah," Axel agrees, lazily. "I agree. It's much more fun this way."
And then he's back at the boy's face, his throat; running his hands and lips over the warm flesh, running his tongue over it. And then back at the boy's lips and he swallows a gasp and Roxas' mouth opens, sweet like the berries he must eat, sweet and warm...
And then, then; the tiniest push back.
Axel pulls back, wipes his lips triumphantly.
"My, my. If you wanted in on the fun you could have said so..."
"Shut up," Roxas growls. "It was just...it was..."
But Hook is much more practiced at reading people, much more shrewd, and he sees it in the boy's face. So he smiles, a little softly, a little sweetly, and leans back in.
This time Roxas is all force, pushing back, messy open lips and tongue and oh god, Axel should have known, arrogant little brat needs to be the center of any activity, the best at any game..
Hands push up against Axel's torso and latches on to his waist, fingers digging like claws; a long, slow burn as he rakes the hands down his back.
Well, two can play at that game. And when one has a hook...
Roxas' eyes widen when Axel drags the jagged steel down his neck, over his collarbone and into the smooth curve of his shoulder. A thin, red line. He bites the place where it ends and hear Roxas hiss in symphony, arches up into him.
There is a little predatory smile on Axel's lips as he moves back, smiles at the state the flying boy is in; panting, flushed, hair standing up in little tufts. He fingers Roxas' abandoned sword aimlessly, running his hook down the end; a long, grating slur of metal on metal.
"Enough for one night."
Roxas' head whips up. "What?!"
"I'm setting you free," Axel says, spreading his hands expansively. "Behold, the benevolence of the pirates."
He cut's Roxas' cords in one long swoop, smiling the grin of the victor.
There is a moment where the boy stretches sore limbs, all lithe muscle, and touches softly at the exact center of his lips. Then he looks at Hook, who is grinning with every one of his teeth, green eyes wild in the moonlight.
"Bastard," he hisses, and disappears in a flurry of nauseating sparks.
Hook watches him disappear over the perfect horizon, watches him until he is just a sparkly smear on the edge of the island; the Prince of Neverland.
"He'll be back," Axel reassures the wind, the sea. "He's got a lot of growing up to do."
crackity crack crack! i want there to be more fic/art about them like this. it makes me chuckle.
p.s- i'm working on the next chapter of yellow house- soon, soon!
(and capn' hook says review!)