Paint it Black

The darkness of the night was falling upon both of them as they strode to the hut. He hated this wretched island, its weather, its nasty odor. Its way of rotting every bit of his soul until there was nothing but darkness and pain.

His body still felt the chills from the encounter with Pan's shadow in Dark Hollow. When he felt his soul being ripped away from him and all he could think of was her. Her. All he could think of was screaming to her to save herself, to leave them to perish and run as fast as she could, away from the shadows and into the light.

And then her magic worked a light into that candle and all of the sudden he could breathe again and a different chill in his bones announced him that his life had changed.

Forever changed.

After centuries in the dark, Killian Jones had discovered he was risking his life again. For someone else. For her.

I'd risk my life for two things: love or revenge.

Revenge was gone. Revenge, his mistress for centuries, which came into the night and invaded his thoughts, his body. The one that had made love to him for centuries in the body of countless bar wenches and bottles of rum where he had drowned himself over the years.

Revenge, the mistress he'd first come to known when Liam had been torn away from him in this very wretched island, victim of the corruptions of an unworthy king.

Revenge, the mistress that came back with the fury of a thousand storms after Milah had died in his arms, her heart being ripped and turned into dust.

He'd risked his life for revenge for centuries, never looking back, never having something to lose other than his empty, dark shell of a life.

His life was void, empty, nothing left to do, nothing left to love. Only fuck and drink, pillage and plunder, torture and kill. Ruthlessly seeking the revenge he craved as he used to crave Milah in his arms at night, her body moving rhythmically with his, moaning and panting underneath him, taking him to the brink as her hips bucked to meet his.

And now revenge was gone… Gone, as he had spat in her memory by allowing that wretched crocodile to board his ship, their ship, to walk freely on the deck where he had killed her, to let him sneer and criticize.

He had asked for her forgiveness that night, alone in his cabin, his flask of rum his only companion. Forgiveness for his utter betrayal to her memory. But he'd like to think that she'd have understood, she would have wanted him to use every resource to save her grandchild. Because Henry was hers too; he was a part of her. A small part of her might live in the lad, and he owed it to Milah to help rescuing him. He owed it to Bae too, but mostly to her. He could not avenge her death any longer, but he could rescue the boy.

Revenge was gone.

So what was left? The thought brought him once again to the reality he was in; having risked his life for another reason than revenge for the first time in centuries… and it could only mean one thing.

Love.

He'd risk his life for love. And how quickly the mighty had fallen, how quickly had he lost his defenses against her. One kiss, all it took was one bloody kiss and he knew he was gone for her. For eternity. As revenge had taken him centuries ago, love was claiming him now. Love, that had creeped through each one of his pores, breathed into his bones by the passion of their kiss, by the movement of their tongues against each other, by the way she pulled away only to dive in again and his brain had stopped thinking. All he could do was feel, feel her moving pressed to him, feel his blood thicken and his cock rising as he thought of all the things he'd do to her if he had her back in the cabin of the jolly. If he had her naked underneath him, he'd thrust into her over and over again, each thrust bringing her closer to crash and burn against him. How he would devour her, letting passion consume him, until he would come undone in her arms.

He wanted her. He'd wanted her for a long time now. It was lust at the beginning, it was desire, it was attraction, it was rage. There were so many things that he could not clearly see it. Many mixed feelings had nested inside of him at the beginning: rage, lust, attraction, desire, pain, hope, despair, fondness, care… All of them battling and forcing themselves within him and he could not recognize it. Or he refused to acknowledge it, so he hid behind his revenge as the final defense of his rotten heart, his blackened soul.

But back in Neverland, with all the time in the world in his hands, watching her crumble in the frantic search for her son, the storm of feelings within him appeased and he found himself sailing in a sea of hope, care, fondness…

So he tried, he really tried to work with the bloody heroes to rescue the lad, he did the honorable thing, he saved the prince. The prince, another bloody idealist willing to die for what they believed in, without taking into consideration the pain they caused on the ones they left behind.

(and he'd deny to his death that it was the image of the brother he no longer talked about dying what had sent him to save the prince that reminded him so much of Liam).

And he'd bared his soul to her after that kiss, admitting what the kiss had exposed. That against all odds, against his own wishes, love had found a way into his heart; love had washed away the darkness of his soul and had lit a tiny flicker of hope.

And now he hoped. Now he hoped against no hope, against the father of her child, against the prejudice of her family, he hoped against all obstacles.

He hoped that what the kiss exposed was not just for him; but also for her. He hoped that the lost girl would see the lost boy, that the damaged soul that was burned at the core by Bae would recognize that he'd also been crushed and burned, and left behind; that he'd also shut down to love again. He hoped that she would see that he was willing to take a chance, willing to find out; and that she'd be willing to take a leap of faith.

He hoped that one day she'd love him back.