Hello, my dear readers!

I know, the last update was only 5 days ago, but it's Sunday (here is literally 'Sun'-day) and I know you all are waiting for the first real 'thing' between storyteller and pirate-captain. And it will be romantic but also a little bit HOT, so maybe you should take a cool drink to your desk / sofa before you began to read.

And for all who wondered how Hook (in the 2003-movie) could own a gramophone he took with him to the dungeons of the Black Castle to let Peter have a 'requiem-mass': in this chapter you'll get an answer (at least an explanation I came up with, because gramophones like the one that was shown had been developed around 1890, therefore loooong after Hook walked earth on the Mainland.)

Thank you so much for the reviews; I'm always happy to get some.

Have fun

Yours Lyhwn / Starflight

Chapter 15 – The Kiss Of Awakening

Peter and his friends had said good-bye to the Indians – to John's dismay – and had returned to their hideout beneath the Nevertree. Bumblyn went with them, chatting the whole way with Wendy, who hadn't slept well and was glad for the distraction. She had wakened during the night a few times, barely remembering what she dreamed, but feeling somehow rattled.

The Indians had given them plenty of food made of fresh meat, cooked fruits, potatoes and corncobs. Gentle Deer had offered Peter to stock some pemmikan for him and his friends as soon as the meat was dried. Thus the children had a lot to carry, which didn't lower the cheerful mood.

For the boys the last days had been both adventurous and comfortable, and Wendy had had her own share of good memories, but after her talk with John the evening prior, something in her had shifted. She was uncertain, a feeling she didn't like. She also didn't like being further away from the sea. Admittedly, she didn't like being further away from the Jolly Roger. She would have loved to be able to see the ship from the shore, but Peter had insisted that they had to return to their hideout to store the food safely, and so she hadn't had a chance to visit the beach, or even get a glimpse of Hook.

Until nearly noon the boys – and one girl – were busy with stowing the foodstuffs and trying to thwart Bumblyn from stealing it. Of course, there were a few arguments, a short scuffle between Runner and Bonbon, and a pillow fight that ended with a torn cushion and a lot of feathers flying around. Tink was happy to snatch an armful for her little apartment inside a knothole to make her bed cozier. Peter was laughing heartily and joined every opportunity of skipping 'work' for a few minutes. In the end, John, Slightly and Wendy did the most of putting away, and tried to bring some order into the turmoil beneath the Nevertree.

Wendy pressed her hands against her lower back and sighed. She was accustomed to the sports at school – fencing, riding, cricket and shuttlecock were her favorites, but working bent over for two hours made the muscles in her back cramp. Sighing she stretched her arms over her head and looked around. Not for the first time she became aware of few things which had never bothered her before now.

As a little girl, she had only acknowledged marginally how chaotic and dirty the hideout was, or that there were no regular meals. She hadn't minded running around unwashed, uncombed and without brushing her teeth, now she valued it enough to bring her toilette articles with her to the Indian camp. In earlier visits, she had laughed at the unruly manners of the boys and how wild they were, even if they tried to behave in her presence. Now the difference between the former and new Lost Boys was obvious. Her brothers and the others had lived the last five years in London, and not in the wilderness of Neverland, but even now, after their return to the island, even her younger brothers were civilized, while Peter's new friends did just what ever came to mind.

None of this truly upset Wendy – she was far too happy to skip the duties of a young lady here and to feel herself again – but all these little things called her attention as they had never done before. She wasn't looking at it with the eyes of a child anymore, but with those of a young woman.

After lunch, Wendy shooed the whole gang of little and half-grown rascals out. Peter wanted to show them a few 'eerie haunted caves' near the mountains, which was much to the adventurous boys' liking. Wendy decided not to accompany them, but to sew a few torn clothes (reminders of the buffalo-hunt), read through one of the books to have another story prepared for them and to prepare dinner. Well, this was indeed her intention – later! First, she had to keep a promise, and the mere thought of it made her antsy.

The boys were barely out of sight, as the girl put Jumper's shirt aside and went to her chamber, where she changed into her Elven dress, combed her hair and put on the slippers she had worn as she accompanied Peter back to Neverland. She loved to walk on bare feet, but – truly! – you can dance the waltz better with shoes, because it was easier to pivot in them. Also, Hook mostly wore his boots and she didn't want boots on bare toes. He seemed to be a good dancer, judging from his movements around the bonfire, but he had never done a waltz before and 'accidents' were unavoidable.

She was about to leave her little chamber when she saw the satchel with the books she had brought with her. She wanted to use them for new stories, but she knew them well enough to come up with alternatives without reading the originals again. And, after all, she had brought them along to lend them to Hook.

Having packed everything she needed, she returned to the main room where Bumblyn was dozing, but looked up at her in confusion as he saw that she had changed and wore a sack over her right shoulder.

"Leaving you are?" he chirped.

"Yes, I have a promise to keep," she smiled. "Go back to sleep, I'll be back before the boys return." She winked at him and left the Nevertree, securing the entrance the way Peter had shown her. Then she took a deep breath, thought about the upcoming dance and was in the air quicker than she could blink an eye. Giggling she headed towards the bay in the east, satchel over her right shoulder…

*** PP ***

The Jolly Roger remained between the beach near the Indian village and the Black Castle – where the reefs allowed passage between them, and the tide was easier to use. Smee had first been confused by the order to stay here instead of returning to Pirate's Cove, but the reason was logical. Peter had already half-forgotten about them because his mind was already full of the next 'adventure' that afternoon. But Hook remembered that something unusual was lurking in the shadows of the Mainland, and would certainly grasp at Neverland soon. Such an emergency might demand his presence on the island (he was convinced of this!). Pirate's Cove protected the ship from uninvited visitors (except for Peter, his boys or the fairies), but the disadvantage was the longer distance to the next beach in the south where a longboat could land. Here, on the eastern side of the island, he and his crew could set foot ashore in a few minutes, as he had discussed with Great Big Little Panther two days prior.

That morning the pirates had been busy with the same task as the Lost Boys: Stocking the ship with the provisions they brought along, and making an inventory. Hook had inspected the ship and had to ascertain that everything was to his liking, which earned Billy Jukes one of his captain's rare compliments.

Smee cleared the table after the short lunch Hook ate in his cabin. His captain was in a strange mood – calm yet somewhat … tense. His blue eyes shone with melancholy as he sat down on the settee, opened his waistcoat and leaned back. It was clear that he wanted to rest. Well, everything aboard was all right and the crew was now relaxing, except for the five men who had the watch. So the Jolly Roger didn't need her captain's attention just now.

Taking the tray with him, Smee walked down the steep staircase to the main deck and was about to use the companionway, as he heard music coming from Hook's quarters at the aft. And this time it wasn't his superior playing the harpsichord, but given the many instruments – of which a few were unknown to Smee – Hook used this odd device with the funnel and the 'needled arm' that moved along a circling round black plate, on which – somehow! – music was caught. 'Music-player' was how Hook named the odd thing they had found.

Usually the commander preferred pieces with strong dramatic tones, but this time gentle notes floated softly through the air. Smee could make out violins, there was one playing a solo, now accompanied by other instruments. A few sounded like fanfares, flutes, hollow sounding drums and violins all playing something different, yet together. It was a sweet music that seem to flow through the warm air and enchanted the glistening of the sun on the waves.

Looking around, Smee had to smile. Most of his comrades on deck were at first surprised, then a few of them leaned back wherever they sat, others braced their arms on the rail and glanced with thoughtful smiles out at the sea (or the shore), and a few even got a dreamy expression on their faces. Even the rough and often brutal buccaneers were captured by the tones.

In the captain's quarters, Hook lay sprawled on the settee, enjoying the comfort of his quarters, the familiar scent and noises of the ship and the music. His head was on the cushioned backrest together with his spread arms, his long legs were stretched out. He was completely relaxed as his peaceful expression and this deep steady breathing showed, yet he wasn't asleep. The fingers of his left hand tapped the rhythm of the music or his index finger waved like the conductor's baton.

He had always loved music, but since he lost his right hand, his taste in music had changed. In earlier times (this he remembered), he had favourited the light and sweet tones, popular in his time in the Baroque. Afterwards the more dramatic or melancholy pieces were more to his liking. But after the battle against the dark warlord, as he and Pan had found something like a truce – even respected each other on a certain level – his taste for drama had lessened.

The music that was mystically caught in the black flat plates he had found in the chest that had been washed ashore after a storm, was very different. Some pieces were dark and strong, others were jolly and light, a few were even sung by men or women with incredible voices. He understood the most lyrics – at least those which were sung in English, French and Spanish – but others were at least good to listen to.

With closed eyes, James lay there and let his mind drift away. He wasn't surprised that he found himself back at the bonfire in the Indian camp, whirling around with a certain young beauty whose dove-blue eyes shone with joy and – could he dare to hope? – adoration. Then he was on the beach and Wendy stood before him, the rays of the sun embracing her sweet body that had become almost visible beneath the nightgown's silk. Her long hair played in the wind, dancing to the tones of the music that echoed through his quarters. Then they were at the edge of the Indian village. He felt the soft skin of her forehead under his lips before he met her eyes, big with confusion, shyness and thousands of questions; her luscious still unkissed mouth slightly open in wonder, begging him to…

The pirate in him moaned and rolled his eyes at those thoughts, but James couldn't help it. He yearned for her nearness – and for more. He had enjoyed her company when she had been nothing more than a little girl, now he hungered for the young woman Wendy…

Suddenly he knew that he wasn't alone anymore, but he didn't feel threatened. Lifting his head, his gaze fell upon the slender figure who sat on the sill of one of the open windows, just as if his daydreams had come to life. She lingered there like one of the woodland sprites he often compared her to – hands braced beside her on the sill, legs dangling, the gentle breaths of wind that came from the open sea playing her hair and the flowing sleeves of her Elven dress. A gentle smile was on her face he barely could make out, backlit as she was with the daylight. Yet it was this smile that made his breath catch …

Wendy had come only a moments ago. At least a dozen pair of eyes had spied her while she was flying over the waves to the Jolly Roger, and she had recognized a few of the pirates: Mason, Herb, Foggerty and Billy Jukes – the latter had waved at her. She had waved back and had headed to the large and beautiful carved aft of the galleon, unaware of the wicked grins of the crew, who had their own thoughts of the girl visiting the captain.

Marvelling at the beauty of the ship with its pompous aft, the four strong masts and the polished dark wood, she had followed the sound of the music. She recognized it as the May Rose's Waltz, one of the early works of John Strauss II. And it wasn't played on the harpsichord, but by a whole orchestra, yet it sounded… hollow, as if the music came from a gramophone.

That couldn't be right. Gramophones had been developed around 1890, Hook had been here since the second decade of the 18th century, so how could he own a gramophone? She knew she hadn't seen one during her last stay on the Jolly Roger – during the 'Battle', as she and the smallest boys had been sent to relative safety and Hook had allowed her and the 'three imps' to use his quarters.

Seeing that a few of the large aft ports were open, Wendy landed on the sill, put the satchel beside her and was about to knock, as she saw the ship's commander. He lay sprawled on the settee, head tilted backwards, both arms spread, feet crossed at the ankles – a vulnerable position, yet even in this state power radiated from him. For a moment she thought he was asleep, then she saw how the fingers of his left hand moved in the rhythm of the music, making her smile. James Hook, Scourge of the Seven Seas, villain of Neverland, the man feared by Barbeque and Blackbeard, lazed on a settee like an oversized boy, completely enraptured with a waltz by Strauss. No one was going to believe that. But she would never tell. This was a most private moment, and had nothing to do with anyone else.

Not wanting to disturb him now, she quietly settled on the sill and watched him. She took in his even features with the high cheekbones, the straight nose, the expressive mouth with the moustache and the small goatee, framed by that unruly mass of black curls. The sight made her pulse quicken and hastily she looked away from his face. Her gaze wandered further, over his broad shoulders down to his slim and…

Wendy bit her lips. What. Was. She. Doing? Here she sat, peeping in on a man's quarters and shamelessly eying him up and down, and him unaware of her arrival. But it was so rare to see him relaxed, still for once. Most of the time he brimmed with energy, always moving, so she couldn't pass up the chance to have a closer look at him. And, what shocked her even more than her daring behaviour was the sudden longing to go to him and to touch one of those high cheekbones – or to stroke one stubborn curl away from his high forehead.

Unh, this was quite enough! Determined she looked away from him and observed the large quarters. Nothing had changed so far – including the four claw marks in the door that led to the little water closet, where one of the harpies had left her mark. And the cabinet was still missing two glasses. Her gaze wandered upward to the wooden hatch in the bulkhead that allowed fresh air into the cabin when the windows were closed. Now the hatch was battened allowed the room to bathe in the light from the open port.

Then she felt it: That odd tingling in her belly was back. And had the sun suddenly grown warmer. There was no other explanation …

He tensed and suddenly lifted his head, as if he could feel her presence. Their eyes met – his widening in surprise, hers still caught in his endless deep blues. She knew she should apologise for coming unannounced and sitting here, invading his sphere of privacy, but all that came out was a gentle, "Good afternoon, Captain."

Lifting those black brows, Hook sat up. If he was baffled to see her all of sudden, he didn't show it. "Good afternoon, m'hearty," he replied and rose elegantly, while the last tones of the waltz echoed away.

Wendy's smile widened. "May I come in?" she asked, and an amused snort escaped him.

"I believe you are already 'in,' my dear," he pointed out, a smirk lurking in the corners of his mouth.

The girl giggled quietly – a sound he usually would have found silly, but hers was sweet and pearl-like. Gracefully she jumped down on the deck and placed the satchel beside her. "I apologize for not speaking, but I didn't want to disturb you. You were obviously engrossed in Mr. Strauss."

"He wrote this piece?" the captain wanted to know; seeing a chance to get some questions answered. "At least a Johann Strauss II is inscribed on seven of these odd black plates. The others wear different names."

"Yes. He and his father were the most popular composers for… a few years," she quickly avoided mentioning the time that had passed. Her gaze fell on the small side table. There was the explanation a full orchestra playing Strauss in Neverland: A gramophone. Taking the satchel on one of the chairs, she walked to the device. "Could you tell me how you got a gramophone?" she blurted out; too curious to be careful concerning the time.

Hook cocked his head. "It was in a large chest washed ashore after a strong storm."

"A chest washed ashore here after a storm?" Wendy sounded thunderstruck. There was another connection between Neverland and the real world – or, as Hook called it, the Mainland?

"Yes, it happens sometimes," the captain shrugged. "Here and there storms rage and we are blessed with the detritus here when things get washed ashore. In this case it was a wooden chest. Inside we found this odd device and more than a dozen black plates with different music, which were wrapped in fabric that turned out to be women's dresses. Obviously the chest belonged to a lady who used her dresses to protect the device and the plates."

Wendy nodded. Inwardly she hoped that the chest had been washed overboard and that the ship in question hadn't sunk, but she had to pay the lady, who once packed the chest, respect. "Clever. These plates – they are called discs, by the way – can be easily damaged. The same goes for the gramophone. So securing them with a lot of material is a good idea." She bent over it and examined it curiously. "Seven-inch-discs. They are not available for long. And they are made of shellack, not wax. Better in tone, but fragile." She glanced up at the pirate again, who listened closely. "I saw that no one stood here cranking it, so the gramophone must already have a clock-work, or springs. How long does it play until you have to rewind it?"

"Gramophone … odd name," Hook remarked. "Most of the time it works long enough for one song – or two if they're not too long."

Wendy grinned. "Perfect! That's exactly what we need." She clapped her hands and turned fully towards him. "Which discs do you have? May I see them?"

"So, you came to keep your promise?" he concluded her request to see what music was available.

"Yes," she nodded and glanced around. "First we have to make open space."

"More?" Frowning, he glanced around. "My dear, this is the largest room on the whole ship – except for the hold, but…"

"I know," she laughed and laid a hand on his right arm, ignoring the stiff leather and hard cuff beneath the silk of his sleeve. "Believe me, we need more room to do this dance properly." She went to the table and the chairs. "If we shove them against the wall, we'll have enough space."

"Hm, the table will be too heavy for you," he grumbled, went to the door, and shouted his bosun's name over the main deck. He didn't have long to wait, and the old Irishman appeared from below deck.

"Ye called, Cap'n?"

In the quarters, Wendy had to giggle again. Hook's 'call' could have been heard ashore.

"Yes, lend me a hand," was all the commander said and returned into to the quarters. Bryan smirked when he saw the young girl standing there. He had learned about her arrival already from the others, but seeing her standing here told him why she had come. "G'd afternoon, Miss Wendy," he greeted her, and she returned a warm, "And to you, too, Mr. Smee."

Hook waved at the dining area. "Help me to move the table and the chairs."

Smee had to chuckle. "Ah, t'e first dancin' lesson, Cap'n?" He sounded almost playful, which earned him a glare that he simply ignored. A moment later, chairs and table were lined up at the port bulkhead, and the wooden globe and the cabinet were shifted to the other side near the desk and the escritoire. "Room enough?" Hook asked, slightly out of breath. The furniture was, indeed, heavy.

Wendy nodded happily. "Yes, that will do," she said, smiling as she saw him rolling his eyes. With a "Thanks, Smee," he released the old man, and only cleared his throat when the bosun left with a far too cheeky, "Have fun, Cap'n!" Dammit, it was about time to teach the old guy some new respect. On the other hand, James appreciated that Smee treated him as a human and not with cautious fear.

"Where are the discs," the girl wanted to know and Hook led her to one of the commodes, where he opened a drawer. Taking all discs out, Wendy looked through them. "How is it that I didn't see the gramophone the last time I was here?" she asked, while scanning the inscribed names in the middle of the discs. "Was the storm after my brothers and I left Neverland?"

"No, I already had it during your first visit, but it was damaged at the Black Castle after I tried to lure Pan into a trap there, and the crocodile flooded the grotto in its eagerness to get the tome. Mullins was finally able to repair it."

Wendy glanced over her shoulder at him. "So, I did hear music as the fight between you and Peter started there. And I thought I imagined it."

"No," Hook muttered. "I used a pla… disc with more … dramatic music as Pan's requiem mass, but you knew how it turned out."

"Yes, I saved his life by warning him about you wanting to shoot him from behind. Which, by the way, saved you from showing bad form," the girl deadpanned.

He stared at her. What?! This little girly ruined his plan and now she tried tell him that she saved him from showing bad form? That… that was… 'The truth,' an inner voice pointed out. 'Shooting someone in the back IS bad form!'

He growled and clapped his mouth shut with an audible snap. And when Wendy gave him one of her smiles with that knowing in her gaze, he rolled his eyes again, swearing soundlessly beneath his breath. Dammit all, he simply couldn't be angry with her – especially, when he had no real reason for it but damaged pride.

At this moment, Wendy could read him like an open book. It had to cost him a lot to admit it – even if only to himself – she turned her attention back to the discs. "This one will be the best for beginning," she decided and lifted it for him to see.

"'Artist's Life – Johann Strauss'," he read aloud.

"It's a Vienna Waltz. It's a rotary dance, which means, the dancers are moving the whole time. Mostly it's done to the leader's right, using what is called the 'natural side'. If you dance it the other way around, it's called 'reserve' and is a little bit more … unusual to dance because of the dancer's stance, but good dancers master it."

Hook blinked. This all sounded … "Is a waltz this difficult?" he asked.

Wendy laughed. "No, not really. All you do is follow the music with a certain series of steps which repeat themselves over and over again. And because it's a three-quarter time, every full measure will be danced with three or six steps."

"In the closed dance position," he stated; still not believing that something so intimate was indeed proper.

Another laugh escaped the girl. "Yes, in closed dance position."

"And how long has this been allowed?" He was, indeed, baffled.

"Oh, at first most people screamed 'scandalous', but during the Congress of Vienna, it became a very popular dance. Today it belongs to the official ballroom dances."

Congress of Vienna, right. And when did this happen – and why? Well, for now he didn't want to know.

Wendy glanced once again at the disc. "This particular composition is good for learning, because it isn't so quick like for example the 'Emperor Waltz' or 'On The Blue Danube'." She took it to the gramophone. "By the way, the latter is my favourite. I saw it's among the collection, too. Maybe we'll try it when you learned the basics."

Lifting both brows, Hook pursed his lips, amused by how stern and sure about everything she sounded – just like a teacher. Well, she was. Truthfully, he would have to admit that he had learned much from her: Tolerance, forgiveness, listening to the heart. All things which didn't fit a grim pirate captain, but those things had made his life better. And somehow he knew that this little dancing-lesson would add more lustre to his world.

Wendy had changed the discs, wound the spring, put the arm with the needle in position and returned to Hook. Stopping beside him, she lifted a bit of the skirt of her dress and waited for the music to begin. "Just look at my feet and you'll know what to do." She began swiftly as the first tones were to hear, and – to her surprise and unexpected joy – he watched her feet intently. After a moment, he began to mirror her movements, listening to the music and doing the same steps as she. It went better than either would have thought. He was a quick learner, had a good ear for music and he knew all melodies from the pla… discs! He had listened to them dozens (hundreds) of times; after all, they were his only opportunity to enjoy real music since he had left the Mainland.

Wendy saw that he had mastered the basics by the end of the recording, and changed to the next disc, using now 'Vienna Blood' which was also rather slow. And the music was sweet.

"And now the turns," she said, and started to dance with a phantom partner to show him how it was done; right arm lifted, skirt gathered with her left hand. Hook tried to concentrate on his own task to follow her instructions and her demonstration, but he was consistently distracted by her smooth movements, how she held her head, her arm, her hair dancing around her like a veil of silk, the dreamy expression on her face.

The sights inside the cabin that afternoon were indeed other-worldly. The formidable captain of the Jolly Roger danced with outstretched arms to a sweeping waltz, following the instructions of a young girl calmly teaching, occasionally correcting him. On top of that, said formidable captain was grinning like a boy on Christmas morning, even though he'd never celebrated one since leaving England for ever.

"And now, again!" Wendy smiled as he mastered the steps along with the turns rather well. Of course she wasn't staring at his powerful, supple body nor the black curly mane waving around his broad shoulders. Clearing her throat, she rushed to the gramophone and examined another disk. Even as a beginner, he'd already gotten the hang of the waltz. She couldn't wait to work with him to the music of her favourite one. Winding it up and placing the arm back on the next disc, she returned to him. The gently delicious tones climbed through the cabin and spoke of the two springs that lived inside the earth and finally united – the birth of a river that would grow and flow through the lands to slake thirst and to bring life along its shores, the shores of the 'Blue Danube.'

Wendy paused in front of Hook, realizing that this was one of her most cherished dreams come true. Her pulse raced as she met his eyes which met hers with a strange fire, the air around them brimming with something she couldn't name. And then it hit her: properly dancing the waltz, they would be close – very close. It never had mattered when she danced with the men back at home, but it mattered now!

Her mouth suddenly went dry all, and the odd tickling in her belly returned – and it increased with alarming speed, and felt better than she'd ever felt before. For a moment she wanted to back off; her instincts sensed that this would lead to another path, another dimension she hadn't anticipated – one she'd never seen before. But there was no going back now; not when her dearest wish was about to come true.

Gently she took his right arm and guided it around the small of her back, ignoring the wooden cuff and the cold hook. Closing the space between them, she placed her right foot between his. Feeling her cheeks warming, she raised his left hand with her right one into the correct position and laced their fingers together; the gold of his two pompous rings were warm like his skin. The flashback to five years ago when Peter asked her to dance was brief, but she had made him uneasy. Now it was she who was uncertain, while her partner gazed down at her with a strange smile and intense eyes (blue, so blue, blue as forget-me-nots.)

Hook's breath paused in his chest for a moment as he felt the soft body of the girl pressed up against him. He saw her pulse quicken in her neck, her breath, too, and recognized the flush in her heart shaped face. Her reaction to his proximity told him plenty. She was attracted to him as he was to her. He had looked forward to this part of the lesson, of feeling her near him – to hold her in his arms. And now, as the moment had come, he was alive with anticipation.

As the flutes and strings in the orchestra began to sing in the typical three-quarter time, conjuring the invisible waves of the newborn Danube, Hook began to move, knowing instinctively that this was the moment when the real dance began – in dance and life. At first cautiously, then with more confidence he began to waltz around the open space in the cabin, taking his storyteller with him.

Wendy followed him without hesitation, her feet fell into the familiar steps and moved along with the music like she had done it dozens of times, yet this was so different. Never she had been so conscious of her dance partner's body against hers. Never had the hand holding hers felt so warm and the arm wrapped around her so strong. Never had she been so conscious of the soft breath on her face. And she'd never had these flutters in her belly while dancing with other men. She felt more alive than all those other times added together. She tasted Hook's scent – his familiar mixture of tobacco, aftershave, sea and him. She sensed his heartbeat at her breasts and silk of his waistcoat beneath the fingers of her left hand as she let go off her skirt and slid her arm around his waist.

They spun through the quarters, their feet made as good as no sound on the thick, oriental carpets. With her senses high, Wendy was very conscious of his smooth but devious movements – here a turn more to the side, there one turn tighter than necessary, and she had to pull closer to him or work harder to keep up. And. She. Didn't. Mind! For the first time ever she really let herself be led during a dance, her body reacting to his every nuance. To be led, for any reason, required trust. A pirate? A criminal? Yes, and she trusted him.

The tempo accelerated, the violins played their spirited melody, telling of waters falling over rocks and becoming a stream that searched its way through valleys and woods. Wendy felt the cheerfulness bubbling up from deep within her, and erupting into laughter, soon joined by Hook's laughter as well.

The polished bulkheads, the large aft-windows, the furniture – everything seemed to blur around her as the captain whirled her about the cabin. All she could made out clearly was his face, now smiling broadly. Laughing she held onto him, confident in his lead. The music slowed and repeated the gentle passage of the beginning only to become faster again, as if the river would pour itself into the Black Sea, James adjusted to every tempo as if he had done this hundreds of times. His gaze captured her eyes – intense, questioning, yet triumphant. If her heart had beat fast before, now it was racing, and this not only because of the intense waltz.

The music grew faster yet again, ending in a lively crescendo which prompted the dancing couple to pirouette in the middle of the carpet, finally stopping with the fading of the waltz.

Silence spread through the large aft cabin, only interrupted by the soft creaking of the wooden ship hull and the screams of the seagulls from afar.

Wendy was panting, she felt warm from head to toe and strangely paralysed as she looked up into his eyes, which seemed to burn. She knew that she should step back – the dance was over – but she couldn't. She didn't want to! His right arm was still wrapped firmly around her, his chest moved at hers with his breathing, the heat of his body seemed to flow from him into her. His glance shifted, moved to her lips and she felt her breath pausing in her throat. He had looked at her like this before – five years ago, as she was tied to the main mast and he realized that her stories had woken in Peter the first feelings. Then he had only stared at her mouth while discovering the new weakness of his enemy, now he really looked at her. And the rising fire in his eyes rendered her helpless.

Deep down she knew what he would do – that John had been right – but she neither wanted to turn away, nor think of resistance, as he released her right hand and cupped her neck with his long, rough fingers.

James could only look at the girl pressed against him; the music still echoed in his ears, in his soul even after it became silent. Her large eyes searched his face; the awakening woman in her glanced from beneath the dove-blue depth with hidden yearning. What just happened flooded his consciousness. He had danced with the grown Wendy Moira Angela Darling to sweet yet merry music in the middle of his quarters and held her still in his arms. He, the dreaded pirate-captain with the metal claw, the Scourge of the Seven Seas, the 'dark and sinister man.' This sounded like one of her stories she loved to tell – stories, which ended all the same way.

Unwilling to stop himself, his thumb stroked her cheek, creamy and soft. His gaze dropped to her plump strawberry lips and the little touch in the right corner of her mouth. Something that twinkled, beckoned, tempted… Something that would be his if he only dared to make the next move. The urge to get it, the hunger to taste her, became unbearable.

"Not all fairy-tales end with a kiss," he whispered in remembrance of their discussion long ago. "Sometimes they begin with one." And then his lips were on hers – gentle, soft, yet firm.

Wendy gasped. Even if she had known that it would come to this, she hadn't been prepared for the feelings which flared up in her. The tight knot in her belly that had appeared the moment he bent forward, exploded in thousands of glowing sparks which raced through her blood and reached for every part of her body – of her whole being! Her heart seemed ready to jump out of her chest and drummed in her ears, as her eyes fluttered closed – a mistake, because now his lips became the center of her attention.

Another gasp escaped Wendy and it was instantly absorbed by him as he deepened the kiss. His fingers tangled in her hair and tilted her head just a bit to get better access to her mouth. His proximity overwhelmed her. There was nothing else anymore, anywhere, than his long arm around her, his fingers pressing her to him, his messy curls tickling her left cheek, and this hot demanding mouth on hers; the trim moustache stroking her ever so softly. She took in his scent, in the warmth of his muscular body that seemed to envelop her, and it dazzled her.

James was in heaven. Finally! he had his storyteller, his fiery little kitten, really in his arms and could do what he had yearned to do longer than he could admit: he was kissing her. No peck on her forehead, no 'thimble' as a good-bye, but a real kiss. One a man shared with a woman. And it rocked his whole world more than he had ever thought possible.

Her lips were soft and luscious, she tasted sweet and fresh – of roses, fruit and the first wind of spring – and the gentle noise she made, spiked the still controlled fire in his veins to scorching flames. Giving into his desire, his mouth moved to her slender, long neck – nipping, teasing, tasting. He heard her moan – a low, quiet, barely audible tone – and felt her clinging to him. Her small hands seemed to burn through the silk of his waistcoat and shirt, her slender arms bound him more thoroughly than any real chain ever could. Her pulse beneath his lips sang to him, telling him of her first hunger. Nose half buried in her thick hair, then taking in her ensnaring scent, he kissed along her jaw line. She was breathing heavily and as he closed his mouth over her open lips again, he followed the unwitting invitation.

Wendy didn't know what was happening to her, as he devoured her mouth in a way no whispers from her classmates nor any book had ever told her about. For the first time she could really taste him, not only becoming aware of his fragrance – and it was strange but also familiar, tangy and… so very masculine. There was no other word for it. She should be shocked as his tongue darted over her lips, her teeth, seeking entrance, but all she felt was a rising heat that was too strong to gather one clear thought. This was no 'thimble'. This was not even the gentle kiss from the beginning. This was the force of a powerful storm coming from the open sea. A voice in her screamed that this was going too far, but she didn't care. All that mattered was the man who held her close and was showing her the first pleasure of leaving childhood behind. She felt dizzy with all the sensations attacking her unexperienced body and soul, and she wasn't aware that she had clutched his waistcoat or that she even was returning the kiss with rising fervour.

Hook's muted conscience told him that he was about to lose his usually firm grip on his self-control. He knew himself well enough to acknowledge where this would lead – seduction, ravishment, here and now. But she was still so young, so unexperienced. He didn't want to take advantage of that! Not with her, his little feral yet so gentle storyteller.

Even as every fibre of his being protested, he somehow managed to lift his head. He leaned his brow against hers, out of breath. Time seemed to stand still. For a long moment they only looked at each other in wonder and desire – then Wendy' eyes widened. All he saw were her reddening cheeks before she buried her face with a groan in his right shoulder, clearly overcome with all the foreign emotions. Holding her tightly to give her time to recover, he bowed his head against hers and closed his eyes again, determined to enjoy the last intimacy that would end the moment realization came to her. To his surprise, she made no move to break away from him, but simply held him. Both were still breathing heavily. Soft tremors shook her slender body that seemed to meld with his …

Wendy tried to catch her breath – to comprehend what just happened. Hook had kissed her. Really kissed her. He, her 'villain'! And she was completely overawed by it. She still tasted him on her tongue, felt him on her lips – rough, strange and yet so oddly familiar. Her heart still raced and she felt that her knees had gone weak. If not for his arms firmly about her, she would have had trouble standing.

Never had she thought a kiss could be like this. She had imagined soft brushes of lips together, just like the kiss had started, but then… Oh, then it had become so wild and untamed, so new and captivating that something deep in her had awoken. Something she couldn't place, but it had begun to change her whole world. She was confused, shocked even to feel so… alive. She should be outraged by him kissing her like this – without her permission! – but she wasn't! And as his long arms tightened ever so gently around her, she wasn't even aware that she snuggled closer to him, desiring his nearness, his reassurance. His heart beat strong and as quickly as hers, she felt his face pressed into her hair and how his left hand moved in slow circles over her back – as if he wanted to comfort her – and all she could do was close her eyes and hold onto him. She never wanted to leave this warm embrace, where she felt safe (even if an inner voice asked how safe she truly was!) But slowly, good upbringing and deeply ingrained manners were setting in again.

The part of her who was Red-Handed Jill protested as the more decent Wendy Moira Angela finally lifted her head and tried to step back. For a moment his arms held her even closer, then he allowed a bit of room between them. She didn't dare look up, but finally yielding to an invisible force she raised her eyes to his – and was caught again in those blue, blue depths.

He glanced down at her – on her swollen, red, finally kissed mouth and her flushed face. The look in her large glassy eyes was still lost in reverie, but beginning to clear. Her lips moved, but the only thing she was able to say was, "You… what… what…"

He wasn't aware of the tender smile that curled his mouth or warmed his gaze. Lifting his hand to stroke her heated cheek, he murmured, "That, sweet Wendy, was a kiss. Something we both wanted – and still do." He took a tighter grip on the reins of his emotions as she moistened her lips and swallowed audibly.

His deep purr washed over her senses, echoed in her mind and soul, and curled warm in her belly. Her glance took in his face, over his hungry eyes and then his mouth – that expressive mouth that had made her feeling things she never had felt before. And… and she wanted it again.

No!

No, this was… improper, scandalous, forbidden, crazy, insane… and so right! Right, because it was him.

For another moment, she was tempted to rise on her toes to seek out his lips again, and the thought of it shook her enough to wake some sense in her.

"I … I have to go," she whispered and retreated slowly; half expecting him to hold her there, but he didn't. She backed up, her gaze darted through the quarters and falling to the chair with the satchel. "I br … br … I brought some books for you," she stuttered while gesturing to the chairs and the satchel. "I… I think you will like them." She was desperate to change the subject and return to earth again.

For a moment he was taken by surprise by the sudden change of subject. "Books?!" he asked.

Wendy nodded quickly and stepped out of his reach to clear her head. "Yes, they are… uh… about adventures. A man makes a journey to the center of Earth, using a volcano to get underground and finding there a completely new world," she began to describe the content of the books. "A captain of an underwater boat who had distanced himself from the world and lives beneath the sea, but is forced to face it again after he rescues shipwrecked people. A … a … another man who makes the bet that he can travel around the world in 80 days and has a lot of adventures in the foreign countries he must traverse. A whaler … a whaler who lost a leg and is after the white whale who did it to him, risking his ship and his crew in his hunt. A man who was jailed because he stole a loaf of bread, and after he is set free he takes care of a little girl whose mother died, and both are struggling through France before and during the French Revolution. And… and…" She was babbling now, this much she realized, and shut her mouth.

Hook blinked. He could barely follow her train of thought, but his quick mind was still dazed from the last minutes. Submarine boat, a travel in 80 days around the world? Yet one thing caught his attention. "French Revolution?" he asked, baffled. "When did that happen?"

"Oh… a… a few years ago," the girl answered, almost breathlessly. "I'm… I'm sure you're going to like the books." She swallowed; his damn piercing blue eyes were ensnaring her again. "I … I have to go. The boys will be back soon and … and they'll need dinner." Gathering her skirt she ran to the window, but the moment she climbed on the sill, his warm hand closed around her right wrist.

"Wendy, wait!"

This time she turned to look at him with the eyes of a trapped deer; fearing he wouldn't let her go. This really was his wish, but he knew he couldn't (and shouldn't) force her to do anything, so he shoved his desires under control again. His gaze took in her pale face with the still flushed cheeks. He realized that it was almost too much for her. Wendy Darling was a strong-willed, brave girl, but what happened a minute ago was utterly new territory for her and the responsible man in him – the Eton-man, brought up in the household of nobles, who always strove for good form – was discarding the pirate once again. He knew it was the best to let her go for now, but…

"Are you sure you can fly just now? If not, I'll order Smee and a few of the men to row you ashore." There it was again, his concern for her whenever he thought her in a perilous situation.

Wendy stared at him. She saw the concern on his face – and some of the stirring uncertainty in her began to calm down. Captain James Hook really cared for her, and this made her fizzy all over again.

Could she really fly now – after all these wild emotions she was going through? Against her will her gaze fell upon his lips once again, and the memory of their touch gave her a very happy thought, like a warm, bright wave – making her feel like a feather. "I'll be all right," she whispered, and felt the wood of the windowsill beyond her feet vanishing.

With relief James watched her rising, her confusion wasn't enough to hinder her happy thoughts. And as she turned to wave, he saw once again how her face blushed while her shining eyes met his, joy flooded him. She hadn't rejected him. She needed time to come to terms with herself and what she was feeling, that was all. And he knew now for sure that he stood a chance of winning her. If he'd had any fairy dust on himself, he would have flown, too.

Smiling, he squeezed her arm, the golden bracelet still in place, shimmering in the later afternoon sun. "Be safe, Beauty," he said almost gently. "And the next time we'll discuss these books you brought me."

She nodded and gulped, as he released her arm. Good God, a part of her wanted to stay and to explorer these delicious feelings more. Another one wanted to get away as fast as possible. It was fear of an unknown that … that excited her and this, in turn, made her even more wary – not of him, but of herself. Another part was intensely curious about what was happening inside her. And another simply wanted to stand in the sunshine and feel.

"Be … be well, Captain," she whispered, then she took off. With increasing speed, she flew back to the island and headed for Peter's hideout – back to the world of childhood, where everything was familiar and less upsetting. Yet she knew that her thoughts would turn back to the man on the ship, standing at the open window of the large, beautifully carved stern and looking after her with eyes blue as forget-me-nots.

And only as she slipped into the underground home beneath the Nevertree and removed her shoes with slightly trembling fingers, she realized that her villain hadn't stepped on her toes despite the new dance – not even once!

TBC…

Yes! It was only a question of time 'til our captain loses a little bit of this famous 'self-control' – but who could blame him? The music of one of the most popular waltzes (even today), holding 'his' storyteller in his arms after dancing and being in the own four walls are building the THE chance to do what he wanted since Wendy's return. And Wendy? Dancing to her favorite music with her very own 'villain', on whom she not only has a crush for years but who also woke for the first time the woman in her, couldn't end otherwise like it did. Even if I think that James is right when he says that no all fairy-tales end with a kiss but that a few start with one – in this case the story of the two.

In the next chapter, Peter and his friends are visiting the dragons in their valley. It's a good opportunity for Wendy to distract herself from what happened, because of after that kiss she her whole inner being is in turmoil (understandable). At the same time the leader of the mermaids warns Hook and through him Great Big Little Panther of what she saw in a vision – a vision that soon will come true.

I hope, you liked the new chapter and the first real romantic scene between the pirate and storyteller. I really would be happy if you would share your thoughts with me, means: reviews (laugh). Reviews are like the applause for an actor, so let me 'hear' it (snicker).

Have a nice Sunday

Love

Yours Lywhn / Starflight