Warnings: mentions of potential rape/noncon; mentions of underage sexual situations; mentioned of bondage; mentions of pseudo not-quite-cannibalism; parody; humor

Author's Note: This is a parody. I do not actually condone underage sex, despite what the vast majority of what I've written would suggest. Please take all warnings seriously. I keep it at an R-rating, but some themes, due to their nature, may be considered disturbing, unless, of course, you have a sense of humor and remember that, at its core, a parody is not to be taken seriously.

The Misadventures of Peter-Hand and the Lust Boys

The house was in shambles, the dog wouldn't stop barking. If she didn't calm down soon, they'd have to give her a tranquilizer. His wife was standing with the officers, giving a statement of their whereabouts that night and who she thought might have done this. Peter looked at the plaster wall across from him, eyeing the gash that ran from the door up the stairs and into the guest bedroom. It looked like someone had stabbed the wall and dragged the blade behind them as they walked.

"Mr. Humphrey."

He tried to imagine what that person must have been looking for, but in all honestly, he didn't have anything of value there. It was just a quaint little room with large bay windows. They'd kept the walls the same baby blue that they had been when Peter was a child and there was only a bed, a dresser, and a rocking chair that had belonged to Peter's foster mother, Wendy. He couldn't even remember all the nights she had spent in that rocking chair, telling him stories of Pirates and Indians.

"Mr. Humphrey."

The only thing that had been in that room was Charles, who had come to stay with them for a few days. Charles was a young man of only eighteen, attending his first year at the University where Peter was a professor. It was Winter Holiday, the snow was heavy and when Charles had told Peter that he wouldn't be going home for Christmas, Peter had immediately suggested he stay with Moira and him.

Moira had agreed without hesitation. She was heavily pregnant and she'd said it didn't seem right, a young man like that, away from home his first year and all alone on Christmas. Of course, that wasn't the real reason Peter had asked, but he wasn't about to admit that to the police, let alone his wife.

"Mr. Humphrey!" A hand shook his shoulder and he looked up, startled. A police officer was looking down at him, concerned, "Mr. Humphrey, can you come with me?"

Nodding, Peter stood and followed the officer up the stairs, fighting the urge to touch the wall where the uneven gouge led them around the corner and into the guest room. The bed was unmade, the quilt shredded. On the wall next to the window a dagger was lodged into the wall, a piece of thick parchment-like paper hanging from it.

Peter looked at the dagger and his legs felt weak. Moira and he had only been in the room for a minute before he had taken her around the shoulders and forced her to leave. At eight months pregnant, the doctors had warned him that stress could cause her to go into early labor and when she'd started to hyperventilate, his only thoughts had been of his child's safety.

"Is that what did the damage?" He motioned to the dagger and the angry line of ruined plaster preceding it.

The officer nodded, "It's the right size. Mr. Humphrey, I need you to be perfectly honest with me. Your wife said there was a young man staying here."

"Right. Charles Winters. He's one of my students."

"Do you usually have students stay with you over the holidays?"

Peter saw where this was going. He'd been preparing for it ever since they'd gotten back to find the home vandalized and their guest gone. "No, I don't. Charles is a bit of a special case. I've been spending a lot of time tutoring him and I feel very… close to him, I suppose. When he said he couldn't get home for the holidays, I offered him a place where he could feel like he was with family."

The officer nodded. "Do you have any brothers or sisters, Mr. Humphrey?"

"No. Well, not biologically. I was adopted. Wendy Humphrey, the woman who used to live here, she took me and several other children in." He waited for a minute, both to collect his thoughts and to steal himself for the defense he had prepared, "Look, Officer, I know it looks bad - me asking a young man to stay with us, a student no less - but it's the nature of this house, of the way I was raised."

It was the truth. While he had never offered his students a place to stay before, it was the kind of thing that Wendy would have done. Had she been alive to meet Charles, she would have made him sit at her feet and tell her everything about him. She would have liked him. "Wendy would have wanted it that way."

The officer nodded and went to the wall, pulling the note off the dagger. "Could you take a look at this for me?"

The paper was off-white and had the appearance of old world parchment, stiff and brittle to the touch. The ink was thick and the writing was scrawled unevenly across the surface. He paled as he read the contents. 'I have your son. If you want him, come and get him. Captain H.'

He felt his hands shaking as the officer took the note away from him, setting it gently on the dresser. "Is there anyone you can think of, who would think Mr. Winters is your son?"

Peter stared at the note on the dresser numbly. "I can't... I just can't imagine who would mistake him for my son. It's just not possible."

The officer nodded gravely, "Possible or not, Mr. Humphrey, that is apparently what someone thinks. Is there anyone you can think of that has a grudge against you or your wife?"

"No." Peter shook his head, "I mean, I've failed students before, but I've never gotten any kind of threatening notes or phone calls."

"Did any of them ever seem hostile towards you after they were failed?"

Peter saw white spots and realized that he'd forgotten to breathe. Taking a deep breath, he allowed the officer to seat him on the rocking chair while he tried to think. "Yes, a few, but honestly, sir, I'm only twenty seven and most people take me for younger than that. I can't imagine how anyone, least of all one of my students, could mistake Charles for my son."

There was a long pause and finally, the Officer sighed, "Sir, I'm going to ask you something and I want an honest answer. Is Mr. Winters your lover?"

Peter looked up sharply. "Of course not. He's my student. I am married. That would be entirely inappropriate."

"None the less, it's been known to happen." Peter glared at the officer, who tipped his hat. "I didn't mean any offense, Mr. Humphrey. I'll be going now. Try not to disturb anything and I'll have one of the investigators come up in a few minutes to finish dusting for prints."

Peter nodded and watched the man leave. How could they possibly have known? He and Charles had been utterly discrete. They hadn't gone drinking together at pubs, the only dinners they'd had were when Peter was genuinely tutoring him and even then they'd made sure to stay a respectable distance away. The majority of their affairs had taken place in his office or… well, right here in this room.

A memory of the night before made Peter's cock start to swell and he shifted uncomfortable. Moira had just gone to sleep and he had crept in here and fucked Charles so hard the boy'd had to bite into the pillow to keep from screaming. It had been hot and steamy and… and now Charles was gone and it was someone who was out for some kind of revenge on Peter.

His stiffened penis wilted and he stood up, going to the open window and look out over the city, into the night. It was chilly out and he wrapped his arms around himself, watching his breath mist. Charles was out there somewhere, probably afraid and in the hands of who knew what kind of madman.

Who was Captain H and who, in this day and age, would call themselves a Captain? Perhaps the culprit was the captain of a sport's team. Of course, he had failed the Captain of the University's Varsity Soccer team! What was his name? Henry, or Harry, or... he couldn't really remember, but he thought it might have begun with an 'H'.

He started to turn around to go back downstairs, to tell the officers what he had remembered, but suddenly, one of the stars moved. Stopping, he turned back around and put his hands on the rail, leaning forward. Was it coming towards him? Yes, yes it was and it was getting bigger. He backpedaled into the room as the star came at him and became clearer.

Suddenly, it stopped and the light faded, the shape of a man wearing flesh toned hot pants and what appeared to be a lycra mini shirt came into focus. Oh, good god, he was seeing things. Gay things.

"There you are, Peter!"

Apparently, he was hearing them, too. The man was only about six inches tall and he was floating, his hands clasped in front of him and his feet bent back.

"I've been waiting for simply ages. I was afraid they'd never leave you alone." The little man fluttered down and grabbed Peter's hand, lifting it. "Come on, we have to hurry. Captain Hooker has your son, we have to save him."

Peter tried to pull his hand away, but found that the floating man had a surprisingly strong grip. Instead of pulling away, he found himself being pulled up. "Now listen here, you… whatever you are, I don't know what's going on, but I do not have a son. My lo… student, Charles has been kidnapped and if you know anything about where he is…"

The little man, however, didn't appear to be listening anymore. He had dropped Peter's hand and put a finger thoughtfully to his chin. "Not your son?" He swayed a little, back and forth, his feet swinging like a pendulum under him. "Are you sure?"

Peter stared, open mouthed, "Of course I'm sure! I think I'd know if I had an eighteen-year-old son, thank you very much!"

The little man pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them, tipping himself upside down. "That does make things a little more difficult, I suppose."

For a moment, Peter entertained reasoning with it, when he suddenly realized that there was no way this thing was real, it had to be some kind of hallucination. Of course, that was it! This was a hallucination, brought on by the stress of dealing with Moira's pregnancy and the affair and the break-in. It was the only rational explanation.

Suddenly, the hallucination flipped right side up with a shrug and grabbed Peter's hand again. "Oh, well, we still have to go and rescue him!"

Before Peter could say anything else to the contrary, he was propelled forward and tripped over the lip of the rug, falling forwards onto the floor. His forehead clipped the edge of the rocking chair and he found himself lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. The little man landed on his chest and looked down at him. Now that he wasn't flying around, Peter could make out the faint outline of translucent wings.

"You have wings."

His voice was slurred and the room was beginning to get dark. The winged creature crouched down and looked intently at Peter's face. "Of course I have wings, I am a fairy, after all."

"What? That can't be right, fairies don't…"

Before he could finish it, the little man dove forward and put his miniature hands over Peter's mouth. "Don't say that! Hm, you look tired. Go to sleep, Peter, and when you wake up, you'll be in Everland."

Sleep sounded like a very good idea. Of course, the part about Everland was a little confusing, but he'd deal with that when he woke up. As the room continued to darken and he felt himself falling into unconsciousness, he was aware of a strange floating sensation, then nothing else.

Peter woke to the sound of whispering voices all around him.

"Is that really Peter-Hand?"

"It doesn't look like him."

"Well, he has been gone an awfully long time."

"I suppose."

"I expected more wrinkles. Tinkerboy says he has a son… or, wait, he doesn't have a son."

"I thought Tinkerboy said that Captain Hooker has his not-son."

"Sh, you'll wake him up."

"I think he's…"

"…already awake."

Hesitantly, Peter opened his eyes and the faces of four young boys swam into view. Two of them had short, curly blond hair and looked to be twins. They were sitting on either side of his head. Another boy with brown hair pulled back into a pony tail knelt at his feet and a little boy with short dirty-blonde hair and a round face sat above him, biting his lip.

They all watched him and eventually, it became obvious to Peter that no one intended to move until he did. Perhaps if he closed his eyes they'd go away.

Finally, one of the twins looked at the other and than back at Peter, "Are you really Peter-Hand?"

Peter blinked, but couldn't quite formulate an answer. The other twin reached forward, shoving his brother on the shoulder, "Of course he's Peter, Spits, don't be stupid."

"I'm not stupid, you're stupid, Swallows."

The little boy above Peter's head looked at the twins in distress, "Come on, you two, Tinkerboy said we had to be quiet."

The brunette at Peter's feet let a malicious sort of grin creep onto his face. "I don't care who he is, I just want five minutes alone with him."

All eyes turned to the boy, but he shrugged, the grin never leaving his face. The one called Spits, shook his head knowingly, "You just want five minutes alone with any male that can get his grubby little hands on you."

"Not so, and their hands are never little. I like my men big."

Swallows rolled his eyes and Peter felt his stomach drop as the dark-haired boy continued to stare at him. What the bloody hell? He couldn't be more than fifteen! What was he doing making those kinds of comments at his age?

"Now, see here…"

He was interrupted by the small boy, who reached down and put one of his hands on Peter's face, pulling his cheeks back. "You still haven't answered the question!"

"Wakeshon?"

The boy seemed to understand him, despite his slur, "Are you Peter-Hand?"

The boy at his feet got onto his hands and knees and crawled over Peter, pulling the little boy's hand off his face, "Stop it, Diddles, that isn't nice." Then, he looked down at Peter, still smiling and Peter became very aware that the boy's hips were directly over his crotch. Not only that, but Peter had also become aware of what the boy was wearing, or, more precisely what he wasn't wearing, because no one in their right mind could call those leather shorts presentable on a child, and the open black leather vest with no shirt underneath didn't help. If it weren't for the little one still leaning over him, he would have sat up and moved away, or perhaps he would have grabbed the boy and pulled him down - he was only human.

Clearing his throat, he did his best to shove the thoughts out of the forefront of his mind and focus on the task at hand. "Would you mind?"

He shrugged, but didn't move. Suddenly, the boy's head was jerked back viciously and Peter watched in amazement as the little glowing man from the night before yanked the boy off of Peter and onto his bum in front of the door. "Spank-Me, what did I tell you?"

The boy frowned, rubbing his head tenderly, "You told you me to play nice and there's nothing nicer than…"

"That's not what I said."

The boy rolled his eyes, "Fine, you said not to touch him. Only I didn't touch him, Tinkerboy, I was just keeping Diddles from harassing him."

Diddles pouted, "I wasn't harassing him. I was only trying to ask him a question."

Tinkerboy landed on Peter's chest, glaring at the boys with his fists planted firmly on his hips. "There's no time to play around. We have to save Peter's Charles."

The twins looked at each other and spoke in unison, "What's a Charles?"

Diddles looked down at Peter's crotch and then back at Tinkerboy, "His Charles? Is that another name for his penis?"

Spank-Me, who was still sitting on his bum in the doorway giggled, but Peter had stopped paying attention to them, because the events of the previous evening were coming back to him. Coming home from the dinner, the house, the police, Charles missing, the note, everything. He sat up, heedless of the little boy still sitting above him, who just managed to avoid being hit. The little man on his chest fell onto the floor with a panicked squeal and rolled over three times before coming to a stop, staring dazedly up at Peter.

He looked around the room at the boys, not exactly sure what to say. They seemed stunned by his sudden movement, but didn't move to stop him. He had to get Charles. Spank-Me scrambled to get out of his way as he barreled out of the room… and found himself leaning over a rail and staring out into empty space that dropped some five stories to the floor of a forest.

"Bloody shite!"

He nearly toppled over the edge, but several hands grabbed him from behind, pulling him back over the rail and he fell to the floor of the hut, numb. Looking out through the door, he tried to take in his surroundings, fully aware that he was mere moments away from pissing himself.

He was in a forest, he could see the trees all around him, and there were other little huts in other trees, but he could only see the tops of their roofs and the ropes and ladders that connected them. Bellow him, far bellow him, was the ground. The boys were looking at him expectantly and he at them all, trying to decide what they were expecting him to do. Were they trapped up here and wanted his help? It didn't seem likely, considering. "What?"

Spank-Me rolled his eyes and stood up, turning his back to Peter before wiping the dirt off his tight, leather clad arse and the dark, tanned legs that they melded to. Throwing Peter one last glance, he winked and stepped out of the hut, descending onto a ladder that hung off the balcony just outside the door. Getting up onto his hands and knees, Peter crawled to the door and looked down, watching the boy as he traversed the rickety little ladder made of sticks and thin, vines that had been braided into ropes. No way in bloody hell.

"Come on, Peter." He looked up to see Tinkerboy hovering next to him.

"Come on, what?"

The twins, Spits and Swallows came around from behind him, getting onto the ladder one after the other. Spits grinned at him encouragingly and Peter gaped as the boy casually swung himself onto the ladder, his grip lose and carefree. Before he could stop himself, Peter's hand shot out, gripping the boy's upper arm. "Be careful!"

Swallows giggled from below them, already descending the treacherous, makeshift ladder. "It's perfectly safe. Tinkerboy used his magic."

Spits leaned forward and kissed Peter's nose, catching the man off guard and he lost his grip on the boy, who immediately slid from his view. "Wait!" It was too late.

Tinkerboy fluttered in front of Peter's face, "You have to climb down, Peter. How are you going to save your Charles if you're stuck all the way up here?" Without waiting for an answer, Tinkerboy flew off over the thatched roofs and Peter watched him disappear into a particularly large one on the other side of the encampment.

Bugger. What he supposed to do now? He was caught up in some illusion about kinky little boys and flaming fairies and he was quite certain that with each passing moment he was losing what little sanity he had left.

"Peter?" He looked back at Diddles, who still sat on the floor of the hut, watching him expectantly. "What's wrong? If you're scared of the ladder, why don't you just fly down?"

Fly. Of course, this was his fantasy, why not? He looked down again and his stomach lurched. Fantasy or not, there was no way he was jumping off the ledge from five stories up. However, there was no point staying there. Spits landed on the ground and looked at him, waving for him to follow and Peter sighed in resignation. He may not like it, but he couldn't stay up there, either.

Slowly, cautiously, he sat down and scooted himself off the edge, gripped the handle as he twisted around and found his footing, descending the ladder. As he'd feared, it was unsteady and completely unsafe. He could feel the branches bending under his feet and the vines stretched dangerously at his weight. The moment his feet touched the ground, he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and backed away, looking up at the little hut high above him.

"Who is their right minds would have built anything up there."

"You."

He whirled around at the unfamiliar voice, intending to settle the ridiculous claim right then and there, because he was bloody well certain he'd never built a tree house in his life, let alone one that high up. He was afraid of heights for god's sake, always had been. However, what his eyes fell upon, shoved all other thoughts out of his mind and left him standing, dumbfounded, with his mouth opening and shutting in a useless effort to speak.

The boy standing before him was tall, nearly as tall as Peter himself, with short black hair, pulled into an absurd little mohawk that was tipped in bright red. His skin was tan and his features smooth. He was, perhaps, Hawaiian in decent and while Peter had never particularly been attracted to Polynesian men, this one was... sinfully hot, with thinly muscled thighs barely covered in tight pants that stitched up the side and a loin clothe of rawhide slung low on his hips. His chest was puffed out, his arms crossed over the animal skin shirt that stretched over his upper torso, crossing only one shoulder, the clasps on the other had broken and fallen off, revealing the hard bone under the stretched skin. Peter loved that on men, it never failed to make his cock stir.

The boy lowered his arms, placing his hand on his hips and Peter gulped, forcing himself to look up from his other weakness, the trail of shadow and muscle leading from hip bone to groin. It was like a bloody arrow, pointing to the object of his lust. The boy was still staring at him and Peter realized he'd quite forgotten what they had been talking about. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I said, you built it. Or at least, that's what Tinkerboy says." He looked Peter up and down, scathingly. "I, for one, don't believe him."

Peter became aware of several boys that were sneaking out from behind trees and walking out to stand next to the man-child before him, who was, quite obviously, the eldest one there. Surrounded by so many scantily clad children, Peter felt remarkable ill at ease in his lose fitting trousers and button up.

He pulled himself to his full height defensively. "That… little man is daft. Of course, I didn't build that." He hadn't built anything in his entire life. Not even those abominable self-assembly pieces his wife had occasionally brought home from IKEA.

The boy scowled, looking Peter over with obvious contempt. "Of course you didn't, old man, and I bet you can't fly either."

"I beg your pardon?" What the bloody hell was the little twit blithering on about? That was the second time someone had mentioned flying and where did he get off calling Peter old? He was hardly old. Not as young as these children, perhaps, but he was only twenty seven.

The man-child, however, did not appear to hear Peter and turned to the group of children behind him, his head held high in self assurance. "This is not Peter-Hand. This is just some old man. Tinkerboy was wrong."

"Now see here…!"

Tinkerboy, who had apparently been standing behind Peter, flew forward to flutter in Peter's face, his little backside practically perched on Peter's nose. For an imaginary fairy, he certainly had a nice backside. Peter shook his head, not entirely certain where that had come from. "I am not wrong and you know it, Rufi-Ho! He is Peter-Hand and we have to help him."

Rufi-Ho turned half around and looked at Peter scathingly. "It's not him. That old man is not the Hand."

"Excuse me!" They all turned to face him and Peter fumed. "I am not old. I'm only twenty seven."

Rufi-Ho frowned, "That's ten years too old to be here. Unless, of course, you're a pirate. Are you a pirate?"

"No!" Peter took a step back, surprised by the ferocity of his own tone. He didn't know why, but the thought of being called a pirate made his stomach clench and his face heat with anger. "Look, I don't know what is going on here, or who you think you are, but I am Peter Humphrey, a noted Professor at the University and one of my students has been abducted by some madman by the name of Captain Hooker. Now if you can help me, great, but if not, I'd rather be on my way than listen to all of this nonsense."

Rufi-Ho regarded him with his slightly upturned nose. "Captain Hooker's ship is moored on the other side of the island."

"How do I get there?"

"Through the trees, past the watering hole and the Bondage Tribe, take a right at the Mermen's Lagoon and follow the path. If you reach the Fairy's Keep, you've gone too far."

Peter stood, blinking for several minutes while he tried to analyze those directions. Before he could say anything about their absurdity, Spank-Me stepped forward. "I'll take him."

Rufi-Ho frowned down at him, "You are my Lust Boy."

"By choice, not because you took me. I'll do as I please and I'll take him to the ship if I want."

They stared each other down while the other boys watched, leaning closer with every passing minute. Spank-Me stood nearly a foot shorter than Rufi-Ho and he was slimmer, younger by at least two years. If it came down to a fight, Peter had no doubt that Rufi-Ho would win. Luckily, it did not come to that. Rufi-Ho snarled at the boy, "Fine, take him to the ship and have your fun."

He turned around, storming off, with Spank-Me close behind.

The warf was littered with men in various stages of disgust. Peter had never seen anything so vile in his entire life. The smell alone was hideous. A man with a peg leg limped past them and he very nearly gagged. He didn't want to hazard a guess as to the last time these men had bathed.

A long dock connected the shore to a ship that had been grounded some time ago. Several young, scantily clad men were draped across the laps of grizzled men. One of them winked at Peter as he passed, flicking the end of a tacky pink boa at him suggestively. The man under him grabbed the boy's ass and squeezed it tightly, glowering at Peter.

Resisting the urge to tighten the trench around him, Peter continued to walk, trying not to think about how glad he was that Spank-Me had insisted they wear disguises. His original plan of walking up and demanding they hand Charles over to him probably had not been the brightest idea.

Where Spank-Me had gotten the disguise was still a mystery, but Peter wasn't complaining. The trench coat hid his out of place clothing, and a pair of boots thunked appropriately against the wooden dock. The stick-on bushy tangle of the fake beard, mustache, and wig covered most of his young face, which would have stood out against the leathered wear of the pirates he was now surrounded by.

Then Spank-Me had produced a thick metal chain, connected one end to his collar and, holding the other out to Peter, said, "Trust me."

He'd wanted to argue, but the boy certainly appeared to know what he was doing and besides, Tinkerboy had been adamant that Spank-Me was indeed trustworthy. Peter wasn't sure he trusted either of them, but he didn't have very many options, so he took a deep breath, grabbed the chain and started walking.

So far, it was working. They got a few looks, but as Peter boarded the actual ship, he saw why the chain had been the only disguise Spank-Me had needed. There were several collared men throughout the ship. One was chained to the helm, another was on his hands and knees in a thong, washing the deck, and a third was standing outside an ornate door, looking bored.

Spank-Me tugged on the chain and nodded towards the young man by the door. Peter walked over to stand near him, half listening to the conversation while he searched for any signs of Charles.

The man, whoever he was, seemed unimpressed and mildly annoyed at Spank-Me's presence. "What are you doing here?"

Shrugging, Spank-Me jingled the chain. "Having a spot of fun. What about you? Big Chief hasn't come to the rescue yet?"

The man smirked, "Oh, he came. I just refused to go with him. He can have me back when he's learned to share."

"You still act like you're fifty, Water-Sports. He's supposed to be your Master, he can do whatever he wants."

Peter jerked his head over at them, both at the name and the absurd age Spank-Me had thrown out. Water-Sports? And had he said a fifty?! Dropping his voice, he leaned over, "How old are you?"

Spank-Me smiled brightly. "Everland is a place of desires, Peter. We live until we no longer have the will for it."

"That doesn't answer…"

They were interrupted as the door they were standing next to burst open. Peter immediately backed away, melding into the crowd and allowing himself to be swallowed by the sudden rush of onlookers.

What came out of the doorway was, quite honestly, the last thing Peter had expected to see in a place like this. A woman. She was short and slender, with voluptuous breasts that spilled over the top of her black bodice and nearly out of the loose, brown tunic. Her black tights clung to her shapely legs and curving hips. A large, bejeweled codpiece was strapped over her crotch which was very tastefully done, considering the nature of the thing itself.

The woman's black hair flowed over her shoulders in ringlets, her skin was pale against the afternoon sun, and she walked straighter and more confident than any man there. In short, Peter was fairly certain this was Captain Hooker.

"Suck-Me!"

"Coming, Cap'n!" A little man as small as the Captain stumbled out of the cabin, tripping over his own feet in his haste to get to her side.

"My hook."

The man held out a wooden box, gold filigree decorating all sides. He opened it and for the first time, Peter realized Captain Hooker was missing a hand. She pulled a shining metal hook from the box and attachment it to the stump. Peter didn't want to imagine what kind of damage something like that could do, especially as she held it up, the point glinting in the sun.

Where the hell was Charles?

Captain Hooker unclasped the chain that held Water-Sports in place and took the end, walking with him in tow up the steps to the helm. She moved to stand at the guard rail and Water-Sports kneeled next to her submissively, head down and waiting. Spank-Me moved closer, pressing himself firmly against Peter's side.

When all movement had stopped, Captain Hooker addressed her crew. "I have Peter-Hand's son!"

A roar of approval ripped through the air and Spank-Me elbowed Peter's arm, reminding him to join in. She held her hand up and everyone stopped, the ship once again becoming silent.

"Before that, however, we have a traitor in our midst."

A gasp went through the crowd, incredibly theatrical considering it was a pirate ship. Peter slunk back a little further as Captain Hooker descended the steps to the main deck and walked towards the crowd, scanning it thoughtfully. Her knee high, healed boots clanked along the deck and Peter paled as he realized she was heading towards him.

When she stopped, she was facing him, her head high and somehow, despite being much taller than she was, he felt very small in front of her. She sighed, her chest heaving, before she stepped forward and locking eyes with… the man next to him. Peter's knees went weak with relief as she addressed the other man.

"You've done something bad, haven't you?" The man started to shake his head, but stopped. "Now, now, no use lying. Big Chief knew his little slave was here. How is that, Trouser Snake? How is it that he knew I had his Sub mere days after?"

Trouser Snake, as the man was apparently called, shook his head frantically, then looked up and let out a sob, nodding pathetically. Peter stepped away from him, pulling Spank-Me with him.

Captain Hooker nodded, her face reflecting nothing but concern and understanding. "You told him, didn't you? You went to the Bondage Tribe and you traded information." He nodded again, his face in his hands. "Do I not provide enough entertainment? Are there not enough boys here to meet your pleasures?"

He said nothing, but she opened her mouth as if she'd just realized something. "Or perhaps that's the problem. They're boys. Perhaps, you aren't a pirate, after all. Is that it, Trouser-Snake? Do you prefer the submissive arts?"

Trouser-Snake was nodding again, his shoulders slumped and his back shaking. Peter wasn't entirely sure what was wrong with being submissive, but apparently there was, because Captain Hooker gently patted his back once before turning around, yelling, "Jizz Box!"

The man cried out and immediately began begging as his fellow pirates grabbed him, dragging him to middle of the ship where another group opened a trap door Peter hadn't noticed earlier. As they thrust him through the opening, Captain Hooker ascended the steps again. The man's cries faded to almost nothing as the door shut and Peter wasn't sure what had happened, but he was fairly sure it was a bad thing.

He tilted his head down and whispered to Spank-Me, "What's a Jizz Box?"

"It's a waste's what it is." Spank-Me sighed. "It's a room about ten feet deep and only wide enough for one man to stand in. They'll leave him there for the next few days and everyone is expected to… leave a donation at some point."

Peter looked around the ship at the number of pirates huddled together on the deck. If he had to hazard a guess, he'd say there were fifty on the ship itself, more on the docks and the land. He shuddered.

"And now, my faithful crew," Captain Hooker, waved a hand behind her, "Peter's son!"

His attention was immediately drawn past the captain as a large net was pulled up, Charles tangled inside, screeching indignantly. "Let me out of here!"

Captain Hooker laughed jovially. "I'll let you out, as soon as your father is dead."

Charles grabbed at the net, trying to right himself and failing miserably. "I keep telling you, he's not my father! He's my professor! For heaven's sake, he's only nine years older!"

"Age means nothing to fairies."

Peter closed his eyes, knowing what Charles was going to say even before he'd said it. If there was one thing that could piss Charles off, it was being called a fairy. Fag was okay, homo was fine, just about every hate word in the book rolled off his back without a second glance, but fairy… fairy got him for some reason.

"You bigoted bitch! You…"

Before Charles could get any further, Peter stepped forward, throwing his cloak off his shoulders and dropping Spank-Me's chain, expecting the boy would want to run now that he was announcing his presence. Instead of running, Spank-Me hurried to follow him. He would have asked why, but with the number of eyes on him, he could hazard a guess.

Captain Hooker's face stretched into a smile, this one honest and full of mirth. "A new recruit? And baring a gift, nonetheless."

Peter ripped the false hair off his face, "I've come for my student."

The smile faltered, "Who might you be?"

"I am Peter Humphries. You kidnapped Charles from my home yesterday evening and I want him back."

"You… you're Peter-Hand?"

Suck-Me stepped forward. "He is, Cap'n. He's Peter-Hand."

Captain Hooker looked Peter up and down, "Impossible. Peter-Hand is young a virile. This man is nearly thirty."

"Oi!" Peter stepped forward, only to be dragged back by several of the pirates, who gripped his arms, pulling them behind him and binding them with ropes. "I'm twenty-seven, thank you very much and I'm not this… Hand person everyone seems to think I am. I told you, my name is…"

"Shut him up." A rag was stuffed in his mouth and Peter gagged at the strong smell of body odor. He was going to be ruined for gyms after this. No more standing around the health center, taking in the musky smell of men sweating to pop music and pumping iron. Every time he saw someone glistening with sweat he was going to be thinking about this stench and taste.

Suck-Me scuttled forward and began undoing Peter's trousers. Peter tried to struggle, but the other men holding him kept him from doing any real damage and in no time, Suck-Me had his trousers around his knees. He maneuvered Peter so that his backside was exposed to the crew. His boxers were lifted up on the right side and Peter blushed as he realized what they were looking at.

"See there, Cap'n? It's the birthmark." The bright, cherry red birthmark that sat just below his right arse cheek. It was an inch long, curved just slightly to the left and, more importantly, was shaped like a penis, complete with a mushroom tip and two good sized balls. "It's him, he's just spent so much time away, he don't remember."

Peter closed his eyes in humiliation. He really should have had that thing removed, had wanted to on more than one occasion, but something had always stopped him. Now, though? The minute he stepped foot back in London it was coming off.

He was turned back around, his trousers falling to his ankles with the movement. Captain Hooker reached up with her hook, pulling the gag from his mouth, "Well, what do you have to say to that?"

Her hook lingered against his throat, both threatening and strangely erotic. He'd always had a thing for sharp objects in bed. Not that he liked to be cut with them, but the threat was an adrenaline rush Moira had never understood.

When he finally spoke, he was surprised at how steady his voice was. "My name is Peter Humphries. I don't know who this Peter-Hand is and I'm terribly sorry for whatever it is he may have done you, ma'am, but…"

Captain Hooker held her claw against Peter's jugular, applying enough pressure to make the skin dimple under it. She held it there for several seconds before slowly stepping back. "You truly don't remember."

The crew was silent as Captain Hooker stared up at her old foe, her eyes saddened. After several long moments, she spun around, storming several feet away before turning around, raising her hooked hand. "Do what you want with the Lust Boy. Kill the others."

Peter tried to surge forward and the pirates let go, allowing him to trip on his trousers and fall face first on the deck. Spank-Me was being pulled away, thrashing between two men and Peter must have been hallucinating, because he could have sworn there was almost a smile on the boy's face. Charles squealed and struggled in the net, helpless to do anything but watch and know that he was next.

At first, Peter thought everything slowing down was more to do with the fact that he was about to die. It happened in movies all the time. Then he realized it wasn't that everything had slowed, it was that everyone had stopped what they were doing, because a bright flash of lavender light had streaked across the deck toward Captain Hooker.

It stopped at the banister just in front of the Captain and solidified into the tiny man, Tinkerboy, an aura of lavender light still glowing faintly around him. Tinkerboy put his hands on his hips and glared up at Captain Hooker, "Stop this right now!"

Captain Hooker laughed, her arms crossed over her chest and a thin eyebrow raised. "And what, exactly, do you propose to do about it, Fairy?"

Charles, thankfully, kept his mouth shut this time. Probably because he'd realized that Captain Hooker wasn't making a reference to the little man's sexuality, as much as the fact that he was only six inches high and had wings.

Tinkerboy floated up, settling just in front of Captain Hooker's face. "You don't want him dead, you never have."

"Yes, well, my motives were perhaps a little different when he was a pretty young thing, but now…" She looked down on the deck with disdain and Peter couldn't help feeling a little put off. He wasn't in the best shape of his life, but he wasn't exactly a slouch, either and, okay, maybe he should lay off the Hostess Cupcakes once in a while, but Moira was pregnant and he wasn't the first man to put on a few sympathy pounds. "I've no interest in taking that to bed."

Tinkerboy followed Captain Hooker's gaze, then looked back at the pirate. "What if I could get him in shape?"

"You? Tinkerboy? Peter-Hand's protector?" She laughed, throwing her head back jovially. "I would think you'd be thrilled I was no longer interested in your charge, not offering to serve him to me."

The lavender haze darkened to a midnight blue. "I never said anything about serving him to anyone. I'll get him in shape and you can hunt him, just like you used to."

The humor was gone, replaced with interest. "And if I catch him?"

"If you catch him, I won't interfere."

There were several moments of silence while Captain Hooker considered it. Finally, she held out her hook and Tinkerboy took it in his tiny hand.

The agreement made, Hooker turned to her crew. "Let them go, boys. You have two weeks, Tinkerboy, and then I come hunting." She started to turn and stopped, looking at Peter, who was getting to his feet, pulling his trousers up. "I'll be keeping your son, Peter. If you win, you can have him back."

Peter tried to keep the fear out of his voice. "And if I don't?"

"Then he's mine."

Captain Hooker turned decisively away, returning through the heavy door and dragging Water-Sports behind her. Tinkerboy took Peter's finger in his hands and started to pull him away, "Come on, Peter, we have to go."

Peter looked back at Spank-Me, who hadn't moved from the deck. Holding out his free hand, he stumbled forward, propelled by the fairy. When Spank-Me didn't show any signs of following, he dug his heels in, managing to stop Tinkerboy's progress. "You coming, or what?"

Spank-Me gave him a wink and shrugged, "I thought I'd stick around, have a little fun."

Before Peter could ask what the hell that meant, Tinkerboy fluttered down to his shoulder and grabbed the collar of his shirt, hoisting him up into the air and away from the ship, Charles still swinging from the net, calling to him.

"This is ridiculous!"

Tinkerboy swooped down from his branch and perched in midair, hands on his cocked hips in an over-exaggerated display of annoyance that Peter had become very familiar with over the last two days. "Peter…"

"No, it doesn't matter how many push ups or laps I do. Two weeks is not enough time to get me into peak physical condition. It takes months and that's time we do not have."

"We've been over this. Time has no meaning in Everland."

Peter narrowed his eyes, glaring. "You keep saying that. Everyone keeps saying that, but no one will explain it. What does that mean? Do we have more than two weeks? Why bother with measures of time if they don't mean anything?"

Tinkerboy smiled mischievously, "Games are no fun with no measure. Time is a game. Two weeks is too long, not long enough, it all depends on you, Peter."

Yelling never helped, but that didn't stop him. Throwing the rock he'd been using as a weight aside, Peter stormed off to the stick and leaf hut some of the boys had built for him the first day. It was barely big enough for him to lie down in and he couldn't sit up at all, but it did keep the wind out at night for the most part and it gave the false illusion of privacy.

Lying on the ground beside it, he sighed up at the veined underside of the leaves. This was all possibly the most ridiculous thing he had ever been a part of - and that included the time he and his college friends had gotten drunk and tried to break into the flat on Chelsea. Wendy would have been so proud if he'd gotten himself arrested.

A chuckle slipped out before he could stop it. Actually, she probably would have. She was always encouraging him to be reckless, take chances, seize the moment, even when it got him in trouble.

Only this time, he wasn't the only one in trouble. The smile that had begun to form dropped. Charles was being held in some pirate ship where the object of entertainment seemed to be young boys and he was, if not a boy, certainly a young man and certainly attractive enough.

Closing his eyes, he thought about the first time he and Charles had been together. The semester had only been in session for three weeks. Peter had noticed him before, sitting in the front row with his tousled brown hair partially blocking the view to those brilliant blue eyes and the sloppy, crooked smile that begged 'fuck me.'

He'd been caught staring more than once and he wasn't sure he even cared. Before he'd met Moira, he'd slept with plenty of men. Moira had been an experiment, but one that Wendy had approved of - more than she approved of him coming home late with glitter in his hair, smelling like alcohol and sex.

He hadn't even been sure what he was doing when he proposed to her, other than it made Wendy smile and he liked it when she did that. She was all the mother he'd ever known, why shouldn't he try to make her happy? There'd been some concern on the honeymoon as to whether he'd even be able to get it up, but he was a red blooded male and apparently, there were drugs out there that could help you with that.

Instant hetero, or something like that. It had worked the few times he'd tried it, then Moira ended up pregnant and he hadn't needed it anymore. In fact, not pressuring her to have sex had made him the best husband ever.

Really, he felt bad about it. She was a nice girl and she deserved better, but Peter often did things without thinking them through. Like shagging Charles on his desk the night he came in asking for extra tutoring. That had probably been a bad idea, but the boy was so bloody hot and he'd been standing there with the cocky smile and that raised eyebrow and the way he'd sat, knees spread, hand splayed on his thigh suggestively... there was only so much Peter could resist.

Bringing the boy home for Christmas? That had been another one of those impulse moves that he probably should have resisted, but he wasn't made of stone, and Charles knew his wife was pregnant, knew they had to be discrete and accepted it. His relationship with Charles wasn't permanent, they both knew that, but he certainly cared for the boy and he couldn't leave him in the clutches of some blood thirsty pirate on a strange island with fairies and Bondage Tribes and all sorts of other whatnot.

He had to get him out of there and to do that, he had to learn how to fight this… pirate, Captain Hooker, or whatever she called herself.

"Brooding, old man?"

Pushing up onto his elbows, Peter glared at the boy standing on the other side of the clearing. Rufi-Ho, great, the absolute bane of his existence for the past two days. An hour hadn't gone by without the man-child poking at him with words and sometimes even swords. Rolling his eyes, he settled back down and ignored him in favor of the canopy view.

"I said, are you brooding?"

Lolled his head to the side, he raised his eyebrows, "Hardly. I'm wallowing in self pity, that's entirely different."

A chuckle slipped past Rufi-Ho's lips before he could stop it and Peter smiled, "You're almost pretty when you laugh."

The would-be smile was instantly replaced with a sneer. "And there you go ruining it again."

Rufi-Ho stepped toward him, but stopped several feet away, holding his head high and flaring his nostrils in what Peter assumed was meant to be a display of power. "I'm not pretty, old man."

"And I'm not an old man, pretty boy."

"Older than me."

"There are a great many people out there older than you."

Rufi-Ho knelt down where he was and Peter sat up, putting them at eye level. He looked at Peter sideways for a moment longer before the smile returned, not fully stretched or even half meant, but there. "Not so old you can not play the word games we used to."

Peter sighed languorously, "I am not Peter-Hand. I have never met you before and I think I'd remember if I had."

He made a show of moving his eyes over Rufi-Ho suggestively. He was seventeen, legal in some countries, nearly in others. Given another place, he would have been exactly Peter's type. He loved a good barely legal piece of arse.

With his own, equally languorous sigh, Rufi-Ho stood. "Dinner's ready when you are."