It is snowing in Neverland. The bloody kid certainly had a tantrum.
— Is this some kind of joke? I asked.
— No, why would it be?
The demon is smiling like an angel, his eyes so bright.
— Because we never had a Christmas here. It's just ridiculous!
Peter Pan raises an eyebrow, clearly amused.
— The Lost Boys wanted a Christmas, lots of presents. Why would I refuse them?
— Why wouldn't you? I spat. Leave me alone, I certainly didn't ask for a parody of a Christmas.
— No?
Peter Pan slowly comes to me, trapping me against a tree, leaving the Lost Boys dance around a ridiculous Christmas tree.
— I could give you a present too, he whispers to my ear.
— And what would that poisonous gift cost me?
— Oh, Captain, you're offending me. It is Christmas. Presents have to be given and… taken.
His face is too close to mine. He smells like something fresh and spiced at the same time. I haven't had enough rum to endure his twisted games.
— What do you want from me? I growl.
His lips are pink, luscious, inviting. He moistens them with his tongue and, before I know it, he is kissing me. I freeze. His lips are gentle and soft, shy and feverish. When I feel his tongue parting my lips, I push him away.
— You're sick, I whisper.
— You could have much more from this sickness, no more loneliness.
I won't answer him; I won't play his dirty game.
— Don't you want to unwrap your present then?
He is smiling happily like the boy he isn't. He is tempting me, his slender and warm body against mine. Peter Pan is anything but warm.
— For what? Change your nappy? I mocked him.
I thought he'd be angry; he hates being treated like a child. But he bursts out laughing.
— Oh, Killian, I do love your forthright repartee and your corrosive humor. And…
His lips are now brushing the skin of my neck, his hands gently landing on my shoulders making me shiver. I hate him so much.
— I wouldn't mind calling you daddy if it's your kink.
He is going to kiss me once again, I can see it in his eyes, feel it in my flesh. I grab his hair and pull it violently. That bloody demon won't devour my soul, won't dishonor me.
— An abusive daddy, you would be, wouldn't you? You'd probably have a drinking problem and no woman to love you back. But I'd be a good son, obedient, pliant. Won't you like that game?
I wish I could have the upper hand. I wish I could hurt him as badly as he is hurting me.
— You're the one liking it, I answer, as cold as I can.
I don't want him to know how badly I want to feel the warmth of his body right now when he only can pretend to have a heart. His is as cold and sharp as a flint.
— Really?
His fingers are now brushing against my chest.
— Really. And you do own me one, boy.
His fingers freeze and he is like a statue of marble.
— Do I now?
— You do. You did steal a kiss from me.
He raised an elegant eyebrow.
— How could I steal something from a mighty pirate? It was certainly given freely.
— It wasn't. You took what you wanted, no game, and no bargain.
He bits his bottom lip, thinking. I wish he would have just steal a kiss, or my body. But the poison I feel burning deep inside of me is far more dangerous. He looks into my eyes and I'm pretty sure he can read me like an open book. He smirks.
— So, be it. It's Christmas after all. I promise I'll give you what you really want, what you crave for, Captain. Just ask for it and you know I'll keep to my word.
He turns around and gets back to the Lost Boys. I feel numb, cold. I know whatever Peter Pan is willing to give me; I've already lost the battle.