Charles sat very stiffly at the table in Captain Hooker's quarters and waited. He'd spent the past few days in the brig. It wasn't so bad. They fed him and he was comfortable, at least after the initial sea sickness had worn off. He was never been particularly good with boats.
That afternoon, however, things had been different. The pirates had roused him, bathed him - rather a bit more forcefully than necessary - dressed him in clean clothes that were dated, but certainly finer than what he'd been wearing. Black trousers with a front flap indicative of a long ago era and a loose fitted white tunic shirt, bare feet, though and he thought that was probably a very calculated move on their part, because he couldn't run away as affectively without some kind of footwear.
The Captain's cabin was far more luxuriously appointed than the brig, as he might have guessed had he bothered thinking about it in the past two days. To be honest, he'd been more concerned with the way some of the men looked at him and whether he'd be able to fend them off if it came to that. He might have been a cock slut on some of his better days, but even at his lowest and most drunk, Charles had always had better taste than to sleep with someone who hadn't seen a bath in several weeks. There were no beer goggles in the world that could mask that smell.
So, the Captain's cabin was an improvement. Upon entering there was an opulent sitting area, with several chairs and a table strewn with maps and books and a canter of something that smelled like whiskey - the good stuff, not the cheap shite he'd sampled at the dorms. A small step led to a platform that ringed the sitting area, with bookshelves all around serving as a half wall. Straight ahead was a bed, a very large, ornate four poster monstrosity with a thick red and white quilt and at least six pillows that took up almost the entire top half. To the left of the bed was a half drawn curtain where Charles caught a glimpse of a bathtub, and to the right a small table and four chairs were bolted to the floor. Large windows and an extended bench rimmed the room on three sides, giving an impossibly beautiful view of the island, shadowed in the night sky.
It was all very romantic, he was sure, except for the part where he had been marched in, sat at a table, tied to the chair and left some twenty minutes ago. Well, he was assuming twenty minutes. Since he'd been on the ship, he had yet to see a clock. His own watch had been taken and smashed the moment he'd been brought on the board.
The door to the cabin was suddenly and loudly thrown open and Charles craned his neck back to see Captain Hooker standing in the entrance, hands on her hips, long black hair hanging in waves around her face. "Good evening, Charles! How are you doing?"
He shrugged as best he could, given his restraints. "Tied to a chair at the moment, thank you."
She flashed him a sympathetic smile, "Splendid. I had the ship's cook fix us something special for the evening. A rare delicacy on Everland - or just my ship, really. Have you ever had Merman?"
Charles wasn't sure whether he should be offended at the idea of eating something that was half man, or the fact that this Captain seemed to think Mermen were real. He decided that in the absence of a properly formed thought, he should keep his mouth shut.
Captain Hooker made her way to the platform and over to him, taking her seat across from him at the table and set her elbows on either side of her plate, staring at him in earnest. "Don't be alarmed, Mermen aren't ethereal creatures of beauty and kindness as one would tell a child. Actually, they are quite vicious, I assure you. I've lost several men hunting them before. Lucky for us one got trapped in the net just this morning."
"Now, let's have a proper look at you." She reached a hand out and Charles considered biting her as she took his chin, turning his face this way and that, studying him, but he was tied to a chair and he couldn't do much in the way of damage with just his teeth. "You look nothing like you're father. Perhaps a little around the eyes, but even that… you must be the spitting image of your mother."
The various crew members who brought his meals had said much the same and he'd tried to tell them he wasn't Peter's son. He'd explained over and over that Peter and him were only nine years apart and it was simply impossible, but it was always met with the same rebuke.
"Time don't mean nothing to Everland and Peter is Everland, as much a part of it as it is of him. Last we saw Peter he was hundreds of years old and only ten. Now he says he's twenty seven. How many years did that take?"
"Seventeen. It takes seventeen years to age from ten to twenty seven."
"Not if you're the Hand."
"…I have no idea what you're talking about."
He gathered they couldn't possibly be in London anymore, but they were still on the planet earth, the same rules still applied, no matter how barmy you were. Actually, he was almost grateful for all the time spent in the dungeon, because Charles was aware that he had a serious inability to control what came out of his mouth. His social worker had said it was because he was young, his guidance counselor had said it was because he had no respect, and Peter said it was endearing, but either way it had gotten him into trouble on more than one occasion. If he hadn't spent the last few days trying and failing to talk sense into everyone below decks, he might have been unable to stop himself from mouthing off to this woman who fancied herself a captain.
Maybe she was a captain, what did he know.
Captain Hooker released his face and he ducked his head, refusing to meet her gaze as she talked. "Now, tell me about your father, Charles."
A man walked in with a tray and set it down, placing plates of what looked like a fish filet and steamed vegetables in front of them, then used a knife to slice the ropes binding Charles' right hand before stepping back and retreating from the room.
"Charles?"
He glanced up and forced a smile. "Yes, Peter, well… He's a professor. He teaches at a school."
Captain Hooker chuckled softly at that. "That does sound like Peter. There was nothing he loved more than taking in strays."
That was exactly what Peter had said. When Charles had tried to insist that he didn't want to upset Moira by staying at their home for Christmas, Peter had laughed and said, "She's used to it, I'm always taking in strays."
He shifted in the seat, frowning at the plate of what had to be fish, because Mermen didn't exist. Using his free hand, he tentatively poked at the fish. Nothing they'd fed him thus far had been poisoned and if she wanted to roofie him, all the better, because he really wasn't sure he wanted to remember this.
"So, what does our dear Peter teach?"
"History, predominantly. Although, he has a special place in his heart for the 1600's and especially…" he faltered for a moment as the thought caught up with him, "well, pirates, actually. He loves… pirates."
He really hadn't thought about it until now, Peter had loads of books on them, fictional and historical. He had a flag in his office, a genuine pirate flag that he'd paid a small fortune for and another small fortune to have it properly framed for preservation. There were swords and copies of a few rare manuscripts and there was even that one time Peter had dressed as a pirate, tied him to the desk and had his wicked way with Charles.
Captain Hooker sipped her wine. "Really? That is quite interesting. Enjoying your Merman?"
After a moment's hesitation, Charles took a bite. It was interesting, if perhaps chewer than most fish he was used to eating, but that could have had something to do with the lack of modern cooking amenities. Although, considering it was cooked on a ship with no electricity, it was actually quite nice.
"Captain… Hooker, might I inquire… Where am I?"
Captain Hooker smiled amiably back. "I'll make you a deal, Charles Hand."
He closed his eyes for a moment to refrain from correcting her. "A deal?"
"Yes." She sipped her wine. "You answer my questions and I'll answer yours. Of course, you've already answered one of mine, so feel free to ask anything you'd like, but I warn you, I won't lie."
"Right. Um…" Charles took the wine in front of him and started to sip, then thought better and chugged. "Where am I?"
"Everland."
"I've never heard of it."
"I wouldn't suppose you had."
"Then where is it?"
"Ah, that's another question." She grinned at him over the rim of her glass and he waited. "Good boy. Your father was always such a mouthy little child. You, however? You are delightful. Does Peter have any lovers?"
Charles considered his answer carefully. He'd gathered this Captain Hooker had some sort of obsession with this Peter-Hand, going back to when he was a small boy – and really, that was quite disturbing when he stopped to think about it, so he tried not to. If he told them the truth of Moira back home, he'd be putting her and Peter's unborn child in danger. If he tried to once again explain that Peter was in a relationship with him and that he was not Peter's son, they most likely wouldn't believe him. If he lied…
He looked at the woman sitting across from him and her cold, calculating eyes dark against her pale skin and the tight synch of the leather vest pressing her breasts up and forward. He got the feeling that if he lied, she would know, so he decided to go with the truth, but leave out the details.
"He has many lovers."
She grinned widely and a pink tongue licked out against her lower lip. "Really? Male or female? Or both?"
The last word came out breathy with excitement and Charles shifted in his chair. "Um, both?"
"Is that a question or an answer, Charles?" Her smile hadn't faded, but had become sharper.
"Mostly men."
"I don't suppose you would know what sort of fantasies your father harbors?"
"That's two questions. Where is Everland?"
The smile softened again and Captain Hooker took a slice of carrot, pressing it into her mouth and chewing deliberately slowly before answering. "Everland is everywhere and nowhere. It's in the night sky, where mortal eyes cannot perceive. It's a dream and desire made reality by one boy."
"That makes no sense."
"And that, dear boy, is Everland. It makes no sense. It was dreamt by the mind of a ten year old boy more then hundreds of years ago, made real by the strength of his wishes and the magic of fairies."
"A ten year old boy wished for a place where insane pedophilic pirates were constantly trying to get at his arse? I find that hard to believe."
She laughed, full and unrestrained, sitting back in her chair with her plate barely touched and her wine glass full. "You are delightful, Charles. Simply delightful. No, he did not wish for that, not initially, but he got bored. Everland evolved with him and while his body stayed that of a small child, other parts of him matured. As he grew, the Bondage Tribe came into being, the Mermen found their way here, and I found myself sailing into this cove."
With her good hand, she picked up her glass and raised it to him, sipping the red wine. "All of this, of course, is nothing more than stories told to me by the fairies we've captured. Not even Peter himself could confirm them. His memory has never been reliable and I think I might have been shocked had he actually remembered any of this when we took you and forced his return."
Charles wiped his free hand over his face and sighed, "Then why bother? What is all of this about?"
"Revenge, dear boy, what else?" Captain Hooker held up the stump of her hand, the hook fashioned to it gleamed in the low light of the candles and Charles swallowed thickly. "Your father did this to me and for that, I will have him, but first I believe I should like to have a small, petty bit of revenge as an appetizer to the main course."
Her eyes raked him up and down across the table and she stood. He hadn't noticed her adornments before, too caught up in his predicament, but he did now. Her black tights clung to her body and under the leather vest strapped across her chest was a flowing white shirt of soft cotton that hung to mid thigh. It was simple and plain and compared to her regalia from two days ago, left him feeling as if he were looking at her half undressed already.
He stumbled over the words to express himself as she stepped on bare feet around the table to stand in front of him, leaning her arse back into the table. "No, this isn't… I don't… I'm sorry, I'm not attracted to women."
She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head, her dark curls falling across her high cheekbones. "Oh?"
"Yes. No. I mean, I'm gay. I like men and you are, subjectively, an attractive woman, but nothing short of Viagra is going to make it possible for me to get it up for you."
For a long moment, he hoped it had worked, because the idea that she might drug him into this wasn't out of the question. Then, she braced her hands on the table and lifted one foot, setting it on the chair between his thighs, her toes brushing against his flaccid penis.
"Charles…"
"Oh god, please, I can't…" His chest tightened at the thought of what she might do if he honestly couldn't get it up.
"Charles." He stopped at the command, looking up at her imploringly, begging her to understand that it wasn't her, he just liked cock. Really, really liked cock and she had a vagina and that just wasn't going to work, no matter how much he might be currently wishing it would, just so she wouldn't kill him.
"Charles, look at me." For a moment, he was confused, then her hand moved off the table, sliding along her hip and down to tug the shirt up. Her other hand snaked forward as well, cupping the inside of her thigh. Or, actually, not the inside of her thigh and Charles felt his head tip as he eyed the large bulge pressing into the thin black fabric, trapped against her thigh. His thigh?
"You're…"
"I'm neither and both. I have breasts and the delicate features of a woman, but there's nothing of a woman between my legs."
No there certainly wasn't. Charles couldn't manage to take his eyes off the increasingly impressive erection Captain Hooker was fondling.
"But… how?"
"I've no idea. I was a man, the Captain of a ship, feared and respected by many. I pillaged and plundered and took what I wanted when I wanted it. Then I woke up here, a woman, but not. As I've said, Everland is a place of dreams and desires and it was Peter's desire that brought me here. He wanted a mother, a father, and a challenge and Everland's fairies gave him all of that in me. It didn't work out the way he'd intended, I'm sure" she huffed out a small laugh, "or perhaps it did. Peter has quite the Oedipus complex."
"Really?" Charles shifted in his chair again, wishing his legs were free so he could move away from Hooker's foot where it pressed into his own burgeoning erection. Wishing his other hand was free so he could scoot forward and press his lips against what was at least twelve inches of thick girth hanging heavily three feet away from him.
"Oh, yes. He brought over Wendy to be his mother and the mother of his boys, but called himself father. It was entirely untoward, I assure you." The hand holding up the shirt moved to press a finger under Charles' chin, forcing him to look up into her amused smile. "Now, shall I have my guards restrain you, or do you believe you can manage to behave yourself?"
Charles blinked up at her, fully aware that he had been kidnapped, locked in a dungeon, threatened with death, and was about to be raped. He should have been fighting, he should have been yelling obscenities, he should, at the very least, be biding his time until he had a chance at escape.
He wasn't doing any of that, because he hadn't been lying when he'd called himself a cock slut and his mouth was practically watering at the idea of getting his lips around the head of the impressive specimen being offered to him.
"Can you be a good boy, Charles?"
His arse clenched in anticipation and he nodded eagerly. Charles was going to be a very good boy.
Meals were taken around a large rectangular table made from half a large tree trunk, set low to the ground and covered with wooden platters and bowls of berries, fruits, breads, and juice. When asked where they got the food from, none of the boys would answer him and Tinkerboy would speak in riddles.
"We have what we want, because we want what we need. Hungry, Peter?"
In the week since he had begun training, Peter had watched the boys with growing unease and amusement. They were young, ranging between thirteen and fifteen years of age, with the exception of Rufi-Ho. Being seventeen and still a Lust Boy, Peter gathered he was something of an anomaly. They ate and played mostly, had pretend adventures and rolled around in the dirt together in a manner that was part innocent and part something else.
The twin, Spits and Swallows, delighted in playing pranks, especially on Fondles, who was apparently incredibly shy and the newest member of would-be family. Peter had asked how long he'd been there, but Fondles had only blushed and said, "Forever and a decade," before running off to hide for the day and Peter had given up trying to understand anything that went on there.
Instead of chairs at the table, there were pillows, large cushions that were over stuffed and faded with age and use. After dinner, the children took their pillows with them to sit in a pile of youth and listen to Tinkerboy tell stories of the Hand while they listened in almost reverent silence.
Peter sat on the other side of the small clearing that acting as a common area, his sitting pillow tightly clenched between thighs and chest, listening to the sounds of the nature around him instead of the hushed and breathless whisper of Tinkerboy's story telling.
"Old man."
He tipped his head up and to the side to see Rufi-Ho standing several feet away. He'd noticed the eldest boy never stayed around for those stories. As the others laid half on top of each other, Rufi-Ho invariable went to his treetop home with a sulking pout on his lower lip that said he wasn't any more fond of them then Peter was.
"Pretty boy."
Rufi-Ho grabbed a spare faded red cushion from the pile of extras kept in the back corner near where Peter was hiding and sat down, cross legged, looking at Peter inquisitively.
They'd gotten rid of the trousers and button up he'd been wearing upon his arrival and replaced them with soft animal skin short, a pair of navy blue leggings under them and a lose fitted white cotton shirt. They were old world and comfortable, but he wanted his old clothes back and his old life.
No, that wasn't entirely true. He wanted parts of his old life back. Like electricity and steak. He wondered if it were possible to get malnourished in this place.
A hand touched his face and Peter jerked back, stopping short as he realized it was Rufi-Ho touching him. The boy kept his hand in the air where it had been and after a moment, Peter relaxed back into place and let the boy run it over his cheek, the topmost shell of his ear, his sandy blond hair, and over the line of his shoulders.
Rufi-Ho sighed, his hand dropping, "Sometimes I think…"
Peter waited, but when Rufi-Ho said nothing more, he pressed for it. "What? What do you think?
"I think you could be him." The bright moonlight lit Rufi-Ho's face in shadow and Peter reached his own hand out, following the same path Rufi-Ho had. Over a high cheek bone, along an ear, under strands of dark, red tipped hair that had fallen from their Mohawk through the day, played his fingers in the strands, rolling the red ends in the pads of his fingers, surprised by how soft they were. He let his hand linger a little longer down the boy's tan neck, the pulse points beating hard under his thumb before moving to the nearly delicate slant of undeveloped shoulder.
Letting his own hand drop, he caught the almost smile on Rufi-Ho's full lips and matched it with one of his own. "Sometimes, Rufi-Ho, I wish I was."
Peter-Hand, whoever that was, had value there. Peter Humphrey did not. Peter Humphrey was a Professor who lived a lie he'd created to appease the woman he called mother. A woman who had died six months ago and now he was stuck in it, because he couldn't imagine a way out. Peter Humphrey had sex with students in his office and pretended that was enough. It wasn't, he'd known that even before he asked Charles to come home with him for the holidays.
He was tired of hiding who he was and tired of looking at things he couldn't have except behind closed doors. He wanted…
A pillow smashed into his face and he fell back onto his elbows, surprised out of his thoughts and staring at Rufi-Ho's laughing face. With narrowed eyes and a smile, he picked the pillow up and swung it back. Rufi-Ho dodged and gave a triumphant laugh that was cut short as another pillow caught him in the side of the head, knocked him over into the stack of spare cushions.
There was a momentary pause as they assessed each other in the dim light, both smiling anticipatory smiles, hands clenched around their newfound weapons, waiting for the other to make a move.
Before they could, a loud whoop from the other side the room caught their attention and Don't-Ask, held his pillow up and announced, "Pillow fight!"
Rufi-Ho took the distraction and launched himself at Peter and into the sudden frenzy of soft cotton and long arms and legs and Peter found himself laughing for the first time in a week.
The next morning, Peter woke sore. Knobby knees and elbow had been shoved in places that were tender and easily bruised. He didn't need to lift his shirt or shuck his pants to know a patchwork of yellow and dark blue littered his chest, legs and back. Still…
He sighed up at the intertwined sticks that made the top of his hut. He couldn't remember the last time he had laughed like that. Certainly not since his early days with Wendy, when he had been ten years old and suffering from the kind of amnesia that would never be cured.
Ten years old, the same age they all said Peter-Hand had been.
Maybe he was or had been Peter. There was the birthmark Suck-Me had pointed out to Captain Hooker and the scars on his lower legs and back that doctors had said looked like knife wounds. Perhaps they were from swords. Perhaps Captain Hooker had gotten a few lucky swipes when Peter was flying away from her.
He laughed to himself at the thought. Right, flying – except… except in this place there were fairies. Little men with wings and an aura colored to reflect their emotions. Was the idea that Peter-Hand, whether him or someone else, had been able to fly that absurd?
He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and rubbed. Of course, it was, the whole thing was. In fact, he was fairly certain this last week had been one long, convoluted dream brought on by the stress of Charles' kidnapping.
Swiveling around, Peter got onto his hands and knees and made his way out of the hut, looking around at the bright, early afternoon sky. Above him, the other boys were moving around the rope bridges between their treetop huts, talking and laughing, chasing each other recklessly. A blur of sparkling pink shot between the twins as they chased Fondles into a thick patch of leaves at the far side of the grove, probably heading toward the hanging ropes to slide down into the common area.
He made his way to the watering hole a few feet away and splashed cool water over his face, looking down at himself curiously. Only one week and he hardly recognized his reflection. His hair was wild and ruffled around his face, his skin slightly tanned, making his pale green eyes stand out like the leaves of the trees that surrounded him.
With a sigh, he passed his hand through the reflection and turned to look back up. Rufi-Ho's hut was barely visible, but he watched it for a moment, waiting for signs the boy was still in there. He'd disappeared at some point during the pillow fight and Peter couldn't shake it from his head that there was something he was missing.
He followed the line of bridges and ladders to the largest little building that was Peter-Hand's room. It sat overlooking everything, the other huts, the crystal blue ocean…
"I'll be able to see everything from up here, Tinkerboy!"
Peter started at the voice and looked around, already knowing there was no one there, because that was his voice. Young and immature and excited.
"Not everything, Peter."
"But everything that matters. We'll put one over there for you."
"I'd rather sleep with you."
"Then I'll put a hammock in my room."
Peter didn't realize he'd moved until he found himself high in the trees, standing in the doorway and looking around the room.
A small window sat on the side facing the sunrise over tree tops, the door on the other allowing a spectacular view of the sunset over the waters of the endless ocean. The walls were made of twigs and vines and in one corner was a small hammock hanging near the ceiling.
Tinkerboy lounges there, spilling pink and purple sparkles of contentment down the leg hanging off one side, his high pitched little voice filling the cabin with words to a made up song.
Yo, Ho, all together, hoist your legs in the air
Heave ho, thieves and beggars, you'll never catch us there.
Yo, Ho, Captain Hooker, is coming for your arse
Heave ho, Peter-Hand, you'd better run and fast.
He mouths along to them, his own ten-year-old voice once again ringing in his ears. It's an old sea shanty they heard Captain Hooker men singing on board the vessel that had appeared in the harbor a week ago – a pirate song about raising a flag, only he's twisted and changed the words and he and Tinkerboy laugh and sing it again.
Then he blinked and it was gone, replaced by the empty little hammock sitting in the empty little room.
Under the hammock, pressed into the corner, was a large mound of navy blue cushions and a rumpled heap of blankets in grey and teal and orange. Peter took the three steps over and pulled out the orange one, running fingers through the well-worn cotton it felt… familiar. Familiar and comforting.
The pillows are everyone, covering the floor and he hovers just above them, his back to the ground, his feet flexing from toe to heel at the ceiling while he talks. Rufi-Ho in there listening to him spin tails of early days. Of cutting off Captain Hooker's hand and feeding it to a crocodile and Rufi-Ho is wide eyed and eager and leaning closer to Peter, his lower lip pulled between teeth, his chin tucked against drawn up knees and his smiles big and bright and open.
Then he blinked and he was staring at an empty room again.
Running heedless onto the balcony, he looked down and the rush of memory was as breath taking as the rush he'd felt trying to catch the arm of a boy he'd thought might fall to his death for carelessness a week ago.
Everyone is holding hands in a circle on the forest floor. A young girl in a flowing white linen gown with mousy brown hair in tangles is surrounded by boys in leather as they all sing Ring Around the Rosy.
"Wendy, what nonsense are you up to?"
She's beaming at him, "Nothing and everything!"
"That's my girl!" And he grabs at the rope ladder, prepared to swing down and join her.
Then he blinked and the clearing was empty.
Tinkerboy flew to him and hovered by his cheek, flitted in front of his face. "Peter?"
Peter looked at him and a smile slowly stretched his mouth. "I remember."
"Remember what?"
He focused on the tiny man and the orange tint to his aura that meant confusion, trepidation, caution, the slight yellow hew of it adding hope. "Everything. Tinkerboy, I remember everything! Everything and… everything and nothing."
Because there was too much, too many memories. He'd guess there were hundreds, maybe even thousands of years and he'd look at something and remember a strange little detail and almost, but not completely forget it a moment later, because he couldn't remember it all at once or he'd go mad. Maybe he was already mad. Maybe he'd always been mad.
"I'm… oh, god, I'm Peter-Hand!"
One of the boys came out of his hut and Peter smiled broadly. Don't-Ask, the surely little fourteen year old he'd found crying in an alleyway in west London. The twins! He'd picked up the twins where they'd been housed after their home was bombed and their parents and sister had died. Fondles, then a decade ago, he'd found him hiding from his uncle in a closet. Sleepless was a twitchy child that couldn't stop moving, never stopped moving until he crashed for sometimes an entire day at a time. He still did that. Rufi-Ho…
He looked over to the vined bridge connecting his hut with the next – Rufi-Ho's hut and he wasn't sure how he knew, but Rufi-Ho was in there. It was almost like he could feel him. No, he could feel all of them, the whole island inside him.
Running across the bridge, Peter slid into Rufi-Ho's hut onto his knees, ignoring the dazed blink of the boy half covered in sleeping blankets and barely awake. "I remember!"
Rufi-Ho twisted his head to the side, sneer on his face, "Remember what, old man?"
The factory is dirty and dark and abandoned and the boy who's nearly a man sits in a corner on a pallet of thin blankets, half starved and staring back at Peter with a strange kind of disbelief and Peter kneels in front of him, curious, "Who are you?"
"No one."
"You're pretty, for someone so old."
"I'm not old, I'm seventeen!"
"Older then me."
"A lot of people are older then you."
"You knew." Peter scooted forward, ignoring the sudden tension in Rufi-Ho's body in the way he sat up, moving himself an inch away from Peter in the process. "You knew I was me. Why didn't you tell me?"
After a moment, the sneer deepened. "You wouldn't have believed me."
"I might've done."
"No, you grew up. You went out there and you forgot…"
The hitch of his breath said there was more to that sentence. It was complete and yet un-ended.
The room is dark and Peter hangs upside down in the doorway, watching Rufi-Ho and smiling at him in the moonlight. "It was a good battle today. You fought well. Saved the damsel in distress."
"I nearly got myself captured by pirates."
"No." Peter hooks his fingers on the top of the frame and pulls himself in, flipping until his feet touch the ground in a crouch. "If you hadn't risked what you did, we would all have gotten caught trying to get Rubbers back."
Rufi-Ho's shoulders slump. "I'm too old to be here. I'm older then all of you, I…"
Peter holds a finger to Rufi-Ho's lips and keeps smiling, because maybe Rufi-Ho is right, maybe he is too old. He'd been on the verge of turning eighteen, only a few weeks left when Peter brought him over and Everland is a place of dreams and imagination. That's why the Lust Boys always win and the Pirates always lose. The pirates can't imagine the impossible, Peter and his boys can, but that's something age takes with it.
Rufi-Ho is nearly two years older then the next oldest and two years doesn't seem like a lot, but Peter often finds it makes the difference between one of his boys deciding to join the pirates or the Bondage Tribe rather than staying in the forest with him. Rufi-Ho hasn't left, but sometimes Peter's afraid he wants to and Peter doesn't want that. Peter wants him to stay right there and he thinks his will may be the only thing keeping Rufi-Ho from leaving, almost hopes he's right, because the idea that he has that kind of influence over Rufi-Ho, that Rufi-Ho lets him have that kind of influence… It makes him think adult thoughts.
That was seventeen years and a lifetime ago. Sitting in front of Rufi-Ho now, Peter felt ten again. Uncertain of himself and what he was feeling. Uncertain of what his next move should be, small compared to this man/child sitting in front of him with all the knowledge of the world and still enough innocence to be brought here and stay with them.
"I forgot you." Without letting himself think anything past the moment, Peter leaned forward and brushed his lips against Rufi-Ho's and they were full and warm, but lax and unresponsive. "How could I ever forget you?"
A laugh huffed against his mouth and Rufi-Ho's hand grasped Peter's shoulder, not pulling him closer, but not pushing him away. "You forget everything."
"I forget nothing. I just can't… it's too much. I can't keep it all here all at once, but I shouldn't have forgotten you, I'm sorry." He caught Rufi-Ho's chin with his finger and tipped his head up, looking into his dark eyes. "You thought I didn't know."
It's long looks on dark nights and longer ones in daylight when they're bathing. It's throwing himself recklessly in front of Peter in battle in an attempt to keep him safe, when Peter doesn't really need the saving, but Rufi-Ho does, because he's young enough to be there by Peter's side, but old enough to have feelings the other boys don't. Peter knows, because he has them too. Thousands or hundreds of years and he has feelings, but he's also ten and he doesn't know how to understand what those feelings mean.
"You were ten, Peter. You could be lewd and suggestive, but you were still only ten."
"I'm not ten anymore."
When he moved in this time, Rufi-Ho met him with the same fervor, the same desperate hunger and Peter thought… no, he knew…
He sits on the floor of the little nursery, Wendy in the rocking chair and his head is in her lap and she's a mother now and a grandmother, with a granddaughter of eight asleep in a bed across the room.
"I don't know what to do, Wendy."
She strokes his hair and it feels like love. "About what?"
"I think… I think I like him, but I don't know what that means and if I did, I don't think he could like me back. Not as I am."
Her hand stops. "What do you mean by that?"
"As a child." He looks up and her face is drawn with concern and her hand has moved to the side of his cheek. "Can I stay here? Tinkerboy says Everland won't let me grow up. It doesn't want me to, but I want to, just a little. A few years, maybe four and then…"
And then Rufi-Ho won't look so guilty when Peter catches him staring. Then they can lay together and Rufi-Ho won't hesitate to touch him or kiss him. Then Peter won't feel so alone when he's with him.
Wendy smiles sadly, like she knows something and he wishes he knew it, too, but he thinks maybe it's one of those grown up things he'll only understand if he does stay and he wants to. He wants to for Rufi-Ho, he wants to for himself.
Only he'd woken up the next morning and hadn't remembered Rufi-Ho or Everland or any of it. He'd been a scared normal little boy. Well, perhaps not normal, but he hadn't been Peter-Hand, either. Wendy had adopted him, she'd told him stories of Everland, perhaps hoping it would bring back his memories, but it never had. He'd grown, become a man, a lover, a professor of history, a husband, and was on his way to being a father and it all should have felt like… like more. More then this, but this – Rufi-Ho spreading his legs to allow Peter to get between them, to push him down onto his back, mouths still hungrily devouring each other – this felt like everything.
Peter dropped a hand to Rufi-Ho's hip, finding the string to the loincloth and opening the knots with the practice of more years then he could count. He tossed it to the side and Rufi-Ho thrust up against him as Peter's hand slid from the boy's face back down his chest, around his waist and over his hip, feeling the lacework of leather straps that wove up the side of Rufi-Ho's legs. He worked three fingers under them, squeezing the silky skin of the strong thigh and Rufi-Ho moaned softly into his mouth, encouraging him.
"Pe'er."
He thrust his tongue in and was met eagerly for a moment before Rufi-Ho's hands took his face and pulled him back, "Peter, I'm sorry, but…"
Peter rocked his hips against the boy's and Rufi-Ho's eyes rolled slightly before he shook his head.
"No, no, Peter, you have to remember. You're already forgetting and you have to remember."
"Remember what? I remember you. I remember things I wanted to do to you. Things I didn't understand. I know them now." He shifted the hand on Rufi-Ho's thigh and lifted it up, bending the knee and let his hand move lower, cupping Rufi-Ho's arse, tips of two fingers brushing against his crack and felt the hitch in the boy's breath against his chest. "I know all of them. I want to show them to you."
"Okay, Peter," Rufi-Ho wiggled out from under him and Peter let him, because he wasn't sure what game the other boy was playing but there had never been a game with Rufi-Ho he didn't like, so certainly… "Charles. Peter, remember Charles."
"Charles?"
Charles? Wide blue eyes and dark hair and a smile that promised wickedness and… and a text book and a desk and… "Charles!"
How had he forgotten? No, no that wasn't right. Of course, he'd forgotten, he was in Everland, he'd gotten all of his memories back and those brief seventeen years had been drowning in the hundreds or more that came before it.
"I have to save Charles." Rufi-Ho's eyes darkened and he looked away briefly and Peter took the boy's hand and smiled. "I have to save him. I have to take him home before I come back to you."
Slowly, hesitantly, Rufi-Ho relaxed and nodded, "We will save your Charles and then you will keep your promise?"
"My promise?"
"To show me everything."
Peter leaned forward, tracing Rufi-Ho's full lower lip with his tongue suggestively, "We save Charles and then I keep my promise."
Charles lay in the thick blankets of Captain Hooker's bed and sighed happily, burying his face in silk and downy softness. His arse was pleasantly sore, his wrists red from spending nearly the entirety of the previous day tied to the headboard and his throat was so fucked out, he wasn't sure what his voice would sound like if he tried to talk past moans and pleas, but it certainly wouldn't sound like him.
Captain Hooker was in the bath, washing himself in steaming water. It never stayed hot for long, but when he was done, he'd have the men refill it for Charles – one of the many luxuries of being Captain Hooker's personal bed warmer. He'd thought cabin boy might be a better title for him, but apparently Water-Sports had that title – at least for now – and Suck-Me got man servant, so he was stuck with bed warmer.
He also got clean clothes, more extravagant meals then the rest of the crew – warm meals at that, which Suck-Me assured him was not something regular crew saw often – and, of course, Captain Hooker's cock up his ass and down his throat several times a day. A side affect of Everland, Captain Hooker had assured him. Vitality was increased, libido insatiable. Between rounds three and four on day one of being confined to the bed for services, Charles decided to believe him.
He'd silently added an increase in his body's ability to recover and heal, because within an hour of being laid open with one of the largest butt plug attachments and fucked into the bed until he was begging to cum a third time, Charles had found himself able to sit comfortable at the table for breakfast.
"Charles."
He rolled on his back, looking up at the wooden beams of the ceiling for a moment before turning to face Captain Hooker.
"Join me."
He considered saying no, but a bath sounded lovely after a night spent… well, getting spent.
Sitting up, he was pleasantly surprised to find the soreness had already faded to a pleasant sort of ache. His experience in the last five days said that it would be gone completely within an hour's time and as he sat in the steaming water, positioning himself with his back to the Captain, leaning his head against the smaller man's shoulder, it soothed away the ache in his other muscles as well. Legs, arms, back, everything becoming lose and relaxed.
The Captain took the soap and rubbed it in circled over Charles chest and he moaned, feeling oddly conflicted by the press of soft breasts between his shoulder blades and the brush of stiffening cock at his lower back. It had been a strange five days. In fact, when compared to all other events that had taken place in his life, Charles now found himself laughing at the idea that he had ever thought of anything else that ever happened to him as strange.
He was on a magical island, where people never aged. There were pirates and Mermen – and, yes, he had actually seen a Merman and while he was thoroughly disgusted with himself and Captain Hooker for having made him eat one, he did have to admit it was fairly tasty – fairies and an entire tribe of people into bondage.
Not to mention what the captain referred to as the Lust Boys – Peter-Hand's rag-tag crew of post-pubescent boys who ran around the woods making a nuisance of themselves. Everland had brought Captain Hooker there to be a challenge, so a challenge he would be. He hunted the boys, captured one every so often, and used them as bait to lure Peter out. The goal, of course, being that one day, he would get his hook into Peter-Hand and have his way with him.
"Do you know, Charles, why we call him Peter-Hand?"
"No, but I'm sure you're going to enlighten me."
A tongue ran up his back and teeth sank into his neck, just behind his ear and Charles shivered.
"The only thing that can please The Hand is The Hand himself."
Charles huffed into the overstuffed pillow, "Not anymore."
Hooker's hand latched onto Charles shoulder and turned him onto his back. He let himself lay still and pliant, his arms arranged above his head.
For having such a small, womanly figure, the captain was strong. He half wondered if Everland hadn't allowed him to keep the strength he'd had as a man to make the fight more challenging for Peter. Why not? It was a magical island made by fairies to sate the dreams of a single, never aging boy. It didn't have to make sense and it never did.
Like now. Charles was completely and totally, one hundred percent gay. Most teenagers he'd met, gay and straight, had said that with enough stimulus and motivation they could probably get it up for the opposite of their sexual orientation. They'd even be able to have sex with him or her if they wanted to, because they were teenagers. Sometimes the goat on old man Jasper's yard looked like it might do in a pinch.
Not Charles. Charles had never had the slightest stir for a girl. Not even when Henrietta Baxter had gotten her hand down his pants and said she wanted to suck his brains out of his cock. Not even then, because she was a girl and okay, maybe if he'd gotten out one of the gay magazines he kept hidden under the bed and buried his face in it, he could have managed to for queen and country, but he hadn't suggested that at the time, because he didn't have any interest.
Captain Hooker, though? Face of a woman, breasts that were soft and squishy and kind of fun to play with in a platonic way, shouldn't have turned him on in the slightest, except there was the matter of the not so slight part of said captain that stood firm and stiff and pretty bloody impressive between muscled legs.
So, yes, Charles could blame it on being cock hungry, but the truth was, even he had to admit getting it up for what was essentially three fourths of a woman was a little strange for him. It was Everland, though, and stranger things happened. Things like twenty-seven year old History Professors hanging upside down in the large bay window of Captain Hooker's room, watching them in the bath with raised eyebrows and a smirk.
He blinked in surprise, but then Peter wasn't there. He looked back, but Hooker only smiled at him, eyes focused down at Charles' bare chest where the hand was making lazy circles around his nipple before brushing over it, then wondering down between his legs, washing him thoroughly until every part of Charles stood at attention.
Perhaps Peter had never been there to begin with.
A light tap on the door was the only warning before Suck-Me came in, his eyes averted at the ceiling as he stumbled over the raised platform, "You're, um, needed on deck, Cap'n."
The Captain raked his Hook gently from Charles navel, up his abdomen and let it catch on his nipple, making his stomach twist pleasantly. "I think I should like to decorate you here."
Charles hummed happily at the suggestion.
"Cap'n."
"I heard you, Suck-Me. Send Water-Sports in to attend me. You, get out of the bath and get dressed, you'll be coming with me."
It was the first time in five days Charles had been allowed outside the cabin and he considered asking why, but thought better of it. It didn't really matter why, it would just be nice to stretch his legs and get some fresh air. Hooker hadn't let him open the windows in the last few days and hadn't been inclined to explain the mandate to Charles. Or, rather, he was very good at distracting Charles from following the line of questioning when it came up.
The only clothes he'd been allowed thus far were oversized tunics in every shade but white. He'd worn black, brown, blue, red, even purple, but never white, not since the first night. As he toweled himself off, Water-Sports laid out clothes for him on the bed before going to help the Captain cinch into his corset.
Charles eyed the white tunic thoughtfully before pulling it over his head and smiled happily at the black tights that had been laid out under it. They weren't trousers, but at least he wouldn't be running around the deck bare assed as he had been in the cabin. There were no shoes, however, and he threw Captain Hooker a sour face he sat on the bed, bare foot, watching Water-Sports tighten the thigh high black healed monstrosities.
"Why do you get footwear and I can't even have my sneakers back?"
"Because I don't intend to run away."
"I wouldn't…" he stopped himself, his mouth half open for the rest of the sentence that he hadn't realized he was going to say and wasn't sure if he meant. No, actually, he was sure. In that moment, he had meant it.
The Captain gave him an easy smile, nudging Water-Sports out of the way with the tip of one boot as he tied off the last of the fastening. "You wouldn't what, my sweet little boy?"
He huffed, ignoring the fact that even with the heels on, Hooker stood only at the same height as Charles himself. One small man with breasts the size of cantaloupe should not make him feel so incredibly small.
"I'm not sweet and I'm not little."
"But you are mine?"
Heat flared in his cheeks, but before he could attempt a witty retort, the door to the cabin opened again and Suck-Me stood at the entrance, this time looking at them, wringing his hat in his hands nervously. "Cap'n, I…"
"Don't bother, we're coming." Charles was propelled off the bed by a hand on the back of his neck, not gripping, but nudging and he moved with it, feet thudding on the polished wooden deck, Water-Sports trailing behind them.
Charles hadn't been sure what he thought of the man when he'd first met him. He was older then Charles by at least three years and he walked around in a black leather thong and collar and Charles thought, at the very least, the captain had to be fucking him. He wasn't, though. Actually, no one was. He appeared to just stand by the door looking pretty and 'attending' Hooker in getting dressed or undressed and making sure no uninvited guests entered.
When asked, Water-Sports had just rolled pretty grey eyes under thick dark lashes, like the answer was obvious; but really, Charles was going to have to ask Hooker soon, because he was finding his intrigue turning to annoyance at never getting a straight answer from anyone. At least Hooker had no problem rewording his riddles until Charles had something vaguely resembling an answer, or fucking him into the mattress until he didn't care. He'd take either one at this point.
The first thing Charles noticed as they stepped out the door was the smell. Dear god, he'd forgotten about the smell. The rosewater scent of the Captain's quarters had lulled him into forgetting that the rest of the ship was filled with grizzled men who bathed once every few weeks if they had a mind and sometimes not even that.
Pressing himself closer to Hooker, he breathed in the man's freshly bathed body and let his senses slowly come to terms with the assault. After a moment, his eyes stopped watering and he was able to breath without choking on it.
Captain Hooker chuckled and gave the back of his neck a fond squeeze. "You get used to it."
"God, I hope not." When no further response was forthcoming, Charles pressed, "So, why are we out here?"
"You mean, why are you out here?"
He shrugged, "I suppose."
Hooker leaned in, soft black curls tickling Charles' cheek as the man pressed lips next to his ear, "I thought you might like to see your father."
"My…?"
Above them, an exuberant cry of, "Charles!" caught his attention and he looked up, startled into silence by the vision of Peter, floating above the mast. Flying, actually, he was flying. Good god, Peter was flying!
Peter flew in a large spiral around the mast, coming to rest of a pole just out of reach of the pirates. "Charles, I came for you!"
Charles tried to think of a response, but his words had stuck in his throat. If he didn't know it was Peter, he wouldn't have recognized him. He was wearing tights and small leather shorts, an open vest with no shirt under, and a baldric of vines across his chest held a small sword at his hip. His blond hair was wild and un-brushed, sticking up and out at all angles. Peter's green eyes, which had always been striking, were shining in a way that was positively unnatural. Even his skin had taken on a healthy tanned glow it hadn't had a before.
He grinned at Charles, who was struck by how young he looked – twenty-two or three, at most, but even more was the juvenile glee in his posture, crouched on the balls of his feet on the pole, leaning dangerously forward, like he wasn't afraid to fall, one hand holding loosely to the mast and his smile… he had the air of a child playing a game.
Which gave Charles another realization; one he'd been on the verge of recognizing before, but was pushed into by seeing his lover like this. Peter as a professor, an authority figure to be respected, someone who held Charles' grades in his hands, had been attractive. He'd made Charles hard just thinking about him. Peter as this flippant fun loving boy? He wasn't nearly so attractive. Oh, Charles would have gone there in a heart beat if he didn't have anything else lined up, the man was still dashingly attractive, but when compared to his other persona, Charles would have taken a pass.
Then there was Hooker, who had locked Charles in a cabin for five days, threatened his life, fucked him senseless without really asking permission, tied him to the bed on more then one occasion, ordered him around, and called him a bed warmer like it was both an insult and a privilege and that? That made Charles ache for more. He liked the authority Hooker had over him. He liked being taken. He liked being told what to do.
Shite.
"Peter…"
Captain Hooker pressed the flat of his hook against Charles chest, pushing him back to Suck-Me and Water-Sports who stood by the cabin door and immediately took his arms. Not tightly, they didn't seem to think he was going to make a run for it, but enough to let him know he should stay where he'd been put and now really wasn't an appropriate time to get half hard over being manhandled.
With a triumphant smile, Hooker drew his sword, "So, Peter-Hand, you've come back to me."
"I've come back for my Charles."
Charles looked at Suck-Me, who was watching his Captain with adoring, squinty little eyes and tried to interject again, "Peter, this really isn't…"
A sword swung around, the tip landing again his collar bone, catching there. "Charles, you will be quiet and allow me and your father to talk."
Now he was fully erect and if his arms hadn't been restrained, he would have rubbed himself to ease some of the ache. Honestly, he'd just had the kind of orgasm that left him seeing little white spots in front of his eyes and his body was perfectly fine with going again just because the man he'd been sleeping with had shoved a sword at his chest. He really was all kinds of buggered, wasn't he?
The Captain turned back to Peter, who was brandishing his own, much smaller sword and now standing half up the stairs leading from the main deck to the balcony off the captain's room.
Charles opened his mouth to try and interrupt them again, perhaps get in enough words this time to express how very much this didn't need to happen, because even if Peter won, Charles wasn't entirely sure he wanted to leave. No, actually, he was very much sure he didn't.
A tug on his arm stopped him and he looked over to see Water-Sports shaking his head. "Don't bother."
In the entire five days he'd been there, Water-Sports hadn't spoken once and Charles tugged his arm out of the dual grips, turning to look at the other man. "Why not?"
"Captain Hooker has been waiting for this battle for seventeen years."
"But Peter…"
"That's not the same Peter that was here a mere week ago. Don't tell me you can't see the difference." Of course Charles could see it. A blind man could have seen it. Or, well, heard it, but it all added up to the same thing. That wasn't Peter Humphries. "That is Peter-Hand and he lives for this."
Hooker lunged, Peter parried and dodged, flew in the air and flipped behind the captain as he came down the steps to stand on the main deck where the other pirates had all cleared a wide berth. Peter crouched on the ground, dimpled grin splitting his face.
"Run, run as fast you can, you can't catch me, 'cause I'm the Hand."
Oh really, that didn't even rhyme properly.
The Captain thrust forward again, sneering as it deflected off Peter's sword and Peter stood, backing up along the deck, unconcerned by the pirates behind him, who parted as they traded blows, sword to sword.
Charles twitched with a desperate need to get between them. Not that he was sure exactly what that would accomplish, but he felt he should try something before someone got hurt.
"I said, don't bother."
He shifted sideways, glaring at Water-Sports, who simply shrugged and Charles seethed, "Someone could get hurt. Those are actual swords. Pointy swords."
Water-Sports frowned for a moment, head cocked curiously, before he opened his mouth in a silent 'o,' "You realize this is Everland."
"Of course, I realize this is Everland. What exactly is that supposed to mean?"
"There's nothing they can do to each other that won't heal. You've experienced this yourself. Unless you'd have me believe you regularly take a fist up your arse and can walk around without so much as a limp within the hour."
Okay, yeah, he had noticed that. He'd enjoyed that side effect of being on an enchanted island – dear, god, he was on an enchanted island, the thought never failed to give him pause – but he'd doubted that rule applied to sword fighting.
Captain Hooker got in a lucky strike, nicking Peter's vest just over his heart and Peter laughed, diving head first under Hooker's legs and was back on his feet before the man could turn, swiping a sword through the back of Hooker's overcoat still laughing with a mad sort of glint in his eyes. A boyish, childish glint.
Charles bit his lip anxiously, "But surely not…"
"Not even death is permanent here. Not unless you want it to be." Water-Sports sighed and rolled his eyes as Hooker gave a particularly vulgar swear over his ruined coat.
"But…" Charles rifled through his short catalogue of memories for something to counter the argument, because the idea that one could live forever, even after taking a broadsword through the chest was beyond his capacity to accept.
"Hooker's hand! It didn't grow back."
Water-Sports' eyes darkened. "Another story for another day. Suffice it to say, Peter's will can have a great affect on the laws of the island and Captain Hooker went too far. He was lucky it was only a hand."
It took a minute to come up with another and he smiled, despite himself, because, really, one shouldn't be smiling at what had ostensibly been, at least in part, cannibalism. "We ate a Merman. Certainly, he didn't come back to life."
"No, of course not. Mermen are no better then animals. They're mean and vicious and I'll never understand why Peter thought them up, but he did and they're here and they're scales make wonderful arrow heads when treated properly and they're good game hunting if you don't mind drowning a time or two."
Oh that was just… well, not as ridiculous as some other things he'd seen in the last five days, but certainly right up there.
Before he could say anything else Peter voice brought his attention back around to the fight. "Charles!"
He was back on the mast again, out of harm's way and grinning, unharmed. "Yes, Peter?"
"It's good to see you. You're looking well."
"Thank you. I'm feeling well."
Captain Hooker frowned at Charles, who shrugged, because it wasn't like he was interrupting anything, Peter was on the mast, well out of reach and the fight wasn't going to continue until he decided to come down. Which apparently wasn't yet, as he'd turned his attention to the young man in the leather thong standing beside Charles.
"Water-Sports, scantily clad, as always."
The man smiled fondly, "Are you complaining?"
Peter narrowed his eyes playfully and waggled his eyebrows, "Never."
"Enough!" The all turned to Hooker, who was standing at the stern, a boy Charles didn't recognized held tightly by two men to his left. He was about Charles' age, Polynesian, hair spiked with red and, most strikingly, he was looking at Peter with an apologetic frown.
For the first time since he'd shown himself, the smile dropped from Peter's face and he scowled. "Let him go."
It wasn't loud and Charles had barely registered the words, but Hooker heard them loud and clear. "Or what, Peter? Your son at the bow, your Lust Boy at the stern. You can only save one, or you could spare them both."
"You can't kill either one of them."
"No, but I could make them wish for it. Or do you doubt that?"
Peter's expression went from angry and defiant to blank. "No. No, I don't. I have your word? I surrender, they go free?"
"My word."
A moment's hesitation and Peter nodded, "Rufi-Ho, take Charles to the others. I'll be along."
He let go of the mast and floated down and Charles found he couldn't just stand there anymore. Wrenching his arm free, he ran forward and Water-Sports didn't stop him. No one did, because making someone wish for the death was a death sentence in and of itself in this place. That's what he'd said, what Captain Hooker had implied. Stab him through the heart and he would mend, unless he didn't want to and that was what the Captain was threatening.
"Peter, stop!" Captain Hooker watched him, but didn't interrupt and Charles put himself in front of Peter, taking a moment to cast him a reassuring smile before continuing to other end of the ship, standing in front of the Captain with confidence he didn't feel. They held eyes for several seconds before Charles managed to get the courage to speak. "You really want him?"
The hook trailed along Charles' jaw slowly, hard enough to dimple the skin without breaking the surface. "Why wouldn't I?"
"Because I've shared your bed for five days and you didn't enjoy taking a boy against his will, you enjoyed taking a young man who was perhaps terrified, but eager."
"Peter's hardly a boy."
"No, but he wouldn't be eager for you, either. He wouldn't tuck his legs under him and beg. He wouldn't stroke himself to completion at your command. He wouldn't get on his knees and let you fuck his throat. He wouldn't be willing, not for anything you'd offer."
It was a gamble and Charles hoped he was right. He hoped he'd read the Captain as well as he'd thought he had, because if he hadn't this wasn't going to work and he really, really wanted it to work.
The hook pulled at the top most tie of Charles' shirt, breaking it before dropping to Hooker's side and Charles really wished the man wasn't wearing a codpiece, because this would be so much easier if he could see whether his words were having the desired affect.
"And what would you suggest, dear boy?"
"Keep me, instead." The Captain's eyebrows raised and his mouth twitched upward at one corner. "Have the pleasure of knowing you turned Peter-Hand's own son against him. Give me the choice and I'll choose you."
Rufi-Ho made a strange squawk of disbelief next to him, but he ignored it, keeping his gaze focused on Captain Hooker, on his eyes traveling down and back up Charles to meet his determined gaze.
Several minutes stretched out and he sensed no movement behind him, not from Peter, who couldn't possibly hear what he was whispering to Hooker, not from the crew, who waited for orders.
Finally, Peter's muted cry of, "Charles?" broke the silence, and Hooker finally nodded.
"Tell him. Tell him who you choose and then come back to me and I let them go."
Charles didn't bother to hide his smile before he dropped to a knee, kissing the silver hook with eyes raised to meet Hooker's approving gaze before he turned, bounding down the steps to Peter, stopping just short of hugging him. Peter watched, confused and frowning, eyes flitting between Rufi-Ho and Charles and Hooker, trying to make sense of it.
"Peter." Peter's eyes settled on him and Charles smiled, his voice low. "It's alright. You take Rufi-Ho, I'm staying."
"Staying? But why?"
"Honestly, I've no idea. The last five days have been eye opening and I think I'd like to open my eyes a little more."
Peter's frown deepened into confusion, "But… you're gay and she…"
"Is hung like a horse."
"Really?" Peter blinked, the frown replaced with surprised wide eyes. "She never said…"
"He, Peter. He's a man."
"He. He never said anything about that. Although, some of those threats she…"
"He."
"He. Some of those threats he used to fling at me make a lot more sense now. When he said he was going to impale me, I thought he meant with his sword."
"Well… euphemisms."
"Right, and when he said he was going to take me to bed and split me open, I figured she…"
"He."
"Is the pronoun really that important?"
"I'm sleeping with what appears to be a woman until you get him naked and, even then, there are quite a few female parts. As someone who's known he was gay since the age of seven, this would be the first sexual identity crisis I have ever faced. So, yes, Peter, the pronoun is important."
"Right. Sorry. I forget things, I…"
Charles held up a hand and took a steadying breath, "No, you're right, it doesn't matter so much, just… I want to stay and you…" he looked back at the boy still being held by pirates next to the Captain who was standing still, arms crossed over his tightly confined chest. Rufi-Ho's eyes were glaring silent daggers at Charles and Charles didn't doubt for a moment that Rufi-Ho knew the truth of who Charles was. He wasn't Peter's son, he was a lover and Peter had laughed and joked when he'd come to rescue Charles, but at seeing Rufi-Ho captured, all humor had vanished. He'd gone serious and sullen and surrendered immediately.
"You love him, don't you?"
Peter blinked down the three inches he had on Charles and his face slowly split into a smile again, his cheeks flushing pink, his mouth moving to form the word 'love' without saying it before he finally nodded, "I think I do," and it sounded like wonderment, like an idea that had just come to him.
Peter took a step toward the stern and stopped, his face set grave and serious again. "Charles, Everland makes you forget. Your family…"
"Died before I was a year old. I was spending the holidays at the dorms because I had no one to go home to. The few friends I have there were made a few short months ago. I won't be missed nearly as much as you. What of your family? Will you return?"
Peter shook his head without hesitation. "I was living a lie for Moira. She'll do better without me. She'll find someone who loves her honestly."
"And your child?"
"You see what Captain Hooker would do with my children." Charles could hardly argue with that. "Besides, this is my home. I may have forgotten for a time, but this is where I belong. It's who I am. This island, this world, is me."
"Father and son, then?" Because Everland made you forget and Charles was only beginning to figure out what Peter already knew. If they stayed, it wouldn't be long before it was hard to remember which was the lie and which was the truth.
Peter nodded, "If you ever change your mind?"
Charles nodded his understanding but said nothing more, simply walked back to the stern and took his place at Captain Hooker's side. With a nod from their captain, the pirates let Rufi-Ho go and he hesitated for only a moment, just long enough to shoot Charles an indecipherable look, before going to Peter, allowing the man to take him with an arm around his waist and lift off into the air.
Peter could fly. That was going to take some getting used to. Thankfully, Charles had all the time in the world to do just that. Well, that and a few other things. The Captain caught his silver hook on one of the intact ties of Charles shirt, using it to guide him across the deck to his room and, with a tingling rush of anticipation coiling down his spine, Charles followed.
The sky over Everland was cast in pink and purple with the setting sun, reflecting the happy, sated disposition of its creator for the first time in seventeen years and on the wind that swept through the forest, past the coves, and over the makeshift pirate town was the promise of a new adventure. Tomorrow. Tonight, Peter-Hand had other promises to keep.
End Note: Thank you to my friends for feeding this. You put up with my inane giggling when we watch movies and egg me on when I actually share the deviant things that are going on in the gutter I call my brain. A special thanks to my beta, Puppy – you make me look like an adult.