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Honeydew	By : Panymede Category: M through R > Peter Pan > Slash Views: 4161 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Peter Pan, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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A/N: This contains Hook/Pan slash, so if you don’t like it please don’t read. Peter is the same age he is in the movie, but there will be no sex with him while he’s that age. Hook will deal with some issues about his feelings towards Peter and there will be some adult situations between them, but no sex, so please don’t get upset before you’re finished if such things offend you.

Chapter 1

The night sky is moonless, and even the dimmest stars shine brightly in that crystal clear darkness. On such deep and mysterious nights as these, the fairies hold their Revels, and I can hear their eldritch music flowing through the trees. I pause yet again, turning my head slowly, trying to pinpoint the source. Ah, yes, a bit more to the north… I alter my course and continue onwards, seeking the location of tonight’s Revel. I am alone, I know better than try to bring any of my men along. Any normal mortal would lose themselves to those otherworldly strains of music, and become forever enthralled to the pixies. But I am no ordinary mortal man – I doubt sometimes that I can even claim to be mortal any more. I am James Hook, Captain of the Jolly Roger and Nemesis to the lord of this land, Peter Pan. I have been baptized in pixie dust and I have flown through the skies. I died, swallowed by the crocodile, but I was reborn, clawing my way out of her belly like some demonic infant bursting from its mother’s womb. I am just as much a part of Neverland now as Pan, and the storms that wrack the isle when we clash are truly wonderful to see.

I can see the glow ahead of me, softly flowing from between the trees, a sign that I am getting close. I continue on, confidence in my destination hastening my steps. I search, as ever, for Peter Pan and I know he is in the heart of that light, ripe for plucking. And I will pluck him from that light, he doesn’t belong there and I really don’t know how to feel knowing that he is. The mermaids have told me that he frequents the Revels now, and that information alarms me. I Reveled once, long ago, and I partook of their Wine of Lethe, their honeydew. It is no place for a human, much less a child, and Pan knows this.

Eyes peer at me, shining red in the light of my lantern, and a low growl rumbles from the brush. I ignore it. I fear no creature of Neverland, they are as much mine now as his. All the dark places are my dominion, and the night belongs to me. Pan ceded them to me shortly after he returned alone to Neverland and found me still alive. He was foolish for giving me that dominion, but I finally understood why he did it. It frightened him to see how many dark and lonely places had appeared in Neverland when his Wendy and his Lost Boys left him. He chose the light, clinging to it and the illusion of happiness it brought him and allowed me to claim that which he could not bear. But I can bear it; I’ve done so with my own loneliness for years. I can bear his, too.

I step through the ring of trees and find myself in a small grotto, brightly lit by the soft glows of countless fairies. It is a sphere of joy and light in the otherwise despairing dark of the isle, and I stare upwards in wonder at the child in the heart of that joy. He’s laughing, spinning in the air as he dances with wild abandon. Fairies cling to him like jewels, riding in his hair or latched onto his clothing. More fairies fly past him, letting their wings, their hands, their bodies, skim along his exposed skin.

He is, perhaps, the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, this child of light and air. Every inch of him is vibrant and alive, his golden hair and blue eyes glowing brighter than the sun and the sky. My heart lurches in pain at the vision of something so pure, and I suddenly feel corrupt and ugly. Old. Alone. Done for. I try to hate him in that instant, I try and I fail utterly. How could such an innocent and pure creature such as he understand the cruelty of those words?

I want him. I want him so much that it hurts, provoking a gnawing in my gut and an aching need in my heart. I long to pluck him from that nebulous light, to drag him down to the earth, to the darkness. I want to taint him, to take some of his light for myself and leave within him a part of my dark. But I won’t. I swore long ago to destroy him, and perhaps one day I may. I won’t destroy him in that manner, though, no matter how much I want to do so. Even I’m not as evil as that.

I turn to leave, then, my resolve fleeing from me in the face of that light. I will let him Revel with the pixies, he’s their friend after all. They won’t harm him. He’s only dancing, it’s perfectly harmless. But as I step away, I hear him call out, and his slurred, dreamy voice makes me freeze.

“Cap’n!” he calls as he glides down to hover before me. His eyes, half-lidded with ecstasy, are sparkling with something other than starlight. “Cap’n Hook,” he giggles, tasting my name like it’s some exotic fruit. “James, won’t you stay? Come dance with me! They’ll give you dust and we’ll fly!”

He glides closer and I smell it on him, confirming my fears and confirming my motivation for seeking him out tonight. Honeydew – he reeks of it. “Pan,” I answer, stepping back. “You’re drunk.”

“Aye, James Hook,” he replies with a sly, cocky grin. “And I feel wonderful!” He throws out his arm as he shouts this, spinning in the air. “I feel alive and whole. I feel…” he pauses, fixing his gaze upon me, and to my horror he glides closer again. “I feel,” he repeats, reaching out to lay a soft, delicate hand on my cheek. “I feel you, James,” he whispers, his face now inches from mine.

“Get away, brat!” I shout, knocking his hand from my face, the force of my blow propelling him back a few feet. I feel the heat rising within me and I silently curse the fairies for their betrayal. How could they give him honeydew? How could they allow me to find him thus? I glance up at the tiny bodies circling overhead, noting their frenzied dance. They’re oblivious to us. I could do anything to the boy right now. I could gut him, rape him, beat him within an inch of his life and beyond and they’d not notice. The greater horror is that Pan himself would let me do it. Honeydew not only inhibits reason, it heightens all sensations, turning even the most excruciating pain into exquisite pleasure. And it is terribly addictive to humans – I myself only drank it once, and I spent weeks afterwards wanting more, needing it desperately. There’s a reason these foul fey don’t give it to humans. And yet they gave it to this child!

Peter merely giggled at my reaction, finding humor in my discomfort. “I feel you,” he repeated, approaching again. He sniffed loudly. “I smell you,” he purred, his eyes widening and flashing, “You’re salt and wind, fish and pitch and wood. Suddenly he darts forward, too quickly for me to follow, and then his arms are around my neck, his face pressed against my cheek, warm and smooth against my rough skin. Before I can even gasp, I feel his soft tongue brushing along my jaw near my ear, and the sensation sends fire through my body down to my loins. “I taste you,” he whispers lowly, running his small hands through my hair.

His breath tickles my ear and he licks me again. Blood surges to my groin and I groan, fighting the effect he’s having on me. Some of it is the honeydew, even the aroma can impair one’s reason. Some of it is doubtlessly the pixie dust, it enhances the power of anything magical, and honeydew is a magical brew. But most of it, I know, is my own depravity and I damn myself for my arousal. He’s a child! I grab his arm, trying to pry him off without harming him. If I inflict pain, he’ll only want more. “Get off me, Pan. Go home.”

The boy pulls back enough to look me in the eyes, but his hands remain fisted in my hair. “I am home. I’m here. Touch me, James,” his voice is petulant, nearly pleading, and he pulls himself closer to me, nestling his body around mine. He wriggles against me, seeking sensation.

I’m quickly coming undone and if I don’t stop this soon, I’ll be ravishing the boy right here for all of Neverland to see. It’s a very real possibility that if I do so, the overwhelming sensations of pleasure and pain-turned-pleasure would cause Peter’s heart to burst in his chest. The thought of killing him in that manner isn’t helping to dissuade me from doing it. I don’t want him dead, but it would be an exquisite way to die. Somehow I manage to hold onto one sane instinct, the instinct to flee, and it’s strong enough to override my base urge to rape him. The heat is becoming unbearable, the aching need too much, and with a cry I wrap my arms around the small, sweet, writhing boy and run into the darkness. Whatever happens between us will happen in my domain.

As I run I can feel Pan nibbling my neck, giggling with hysterical childish laughter as he tastes me. I’m sweating from the exertion, my coat too heavy to run in a jungle, and I’m sure the salty beads are only encouraging him to indulge his licking and nipping. But I don’t stop – if I stop I’ll lose myself and destroy us both. My heart hammers wildly in my breast, but I race onwards to the shore. I’ll carry my prize to my cabin, and there I’ll decide his fate. A small voice of reason assures me that Smee will help me deal with the boy, Smee will save us. Eventually the fairy-glow fades behind us and the music has been muted to a tolerable level, and I feel my capacity for rational thought return. I slow some but continue onwards. I still don’t feel safe alone with him here.

“There are lovely things here in the darkness,” the boy murmurs, laying his head upon my shoulder. For a moment I’m hopeful that he’ll pass out and sleep the honeydew off, but then I feel his fingers fumbling at the buttons on my coat. “You are lovely darkness, James, and I’m not so lonely here with you.” He looks up at me again, and I can’t tear my gaze away from the deep pools of his eyes. “Give me a thimble.”

I miss my next step, the boy’s demand taking the strength from my legs and I fall to my knees. A thimble, it’s his childish word for a kiss – Wendy’s clever deception. “No,” I groan, even though I want to devour him right now. I’m so aroused that I wonder how I managed to walk so far… and on the heels of that I wonder why I’m fighting this.

“Yes,” the boy hisses and suddenly his mouth is on mine. I can taste him, his soft, velvety sweetness, and I can taste the honeydew still on his lips. All protests fly from my mind as I delve into that kiss, seeking to consume him. He moans in response, the sensations doubtlessly flooding his mind with pleasure. The soft, needy sounds he’s making urge me on. I crush him to me, bruising his lips as I remove every vestige of honeydew from them. I want more.

I lay him back onto the ground, pinning him beneath me as I run my hand across his body. My mouth follows suit, lavishing licks and kisses on his face, neck, shoulders and chest, giving him the sensations he craves. He hisses and groans in response, urging me on. With a few careful flicks of my claw he is unclothed, and I take a moment to savor his body. The fairy magic clings to him still, and his whole body glows faintly, like a star. God, he’s gorgeous.

I fumble at my breeches and somehow I get them open enough to free my erection. I will take him, morals be damned, and we’ll all rot in hell in the morning. I can’t hurt him while he’s in this state; anything I do to him will only bring him pleasure. I want to impale him. I want to ride him and make him scream in ecstasy. I want to feel him writhing around me, to hear his pleas for more. I want to come inside him, to defile him and make him mine, even if it kills him. Shaking in anticipation, I part his legs, positioning myself at his small opening. I don’t bother preparing him beyond rubbing my own saliva on my member. I’m too far gone to be gentle and he won’t know the difference anyway. But if he lives through this, he will hurt tomorrow.

Just as I’m about to plunge into him, he speaks and his soft, slurring lisp freezes my very marrow. “I love you,” he moans, running his hands across my shoulders. He smiles at me, his dreamy innocence keeping him unaware of what I’m about to do. Even if he did know, he wouldn’t care. He’s beyond comprehension right now, merely a slave to sensation.

“No, Peter, you don’t love me,” I mutter, closing my eyes. I can’t stand the way he’s looking at me, his eyes filled with warmth, trust and need.

“I love you, James,” he whispers, rising a little to brush his lips against mine. “You stayed. You never left me.”

His soft declaration of love has chilled me more that if I’d been encased in ice, and my lust dissolves into bitterness. I shudder at the realizations, the full comprehension, of the sin I had been about to commit.

“I’m leaving you now, Peter,” I tell him, trying to pour all of my self-loathing and anger into my words so they’ll pierce the veil around his mind. I get up, fastening my pants as I rise, but he follows me, hovering there so he can look into my eyes.

“Touch me, James,” he insists, trying to pull my hand to his chest. But I’ll have no more of this and I jerk my hand away.

“Get back, you pathetic little drunkard. Can you fall any further?” I’m trying so hard to hate him, but the black feelings won’t materialize. I haven’t hated him in a long time, and it’s useless to try to start now. Instead I feel a swell of pity for him because I understand his need. I want to take him in my arms, I want to caress him and give him the feelings he craves, but it will do neither of us any good. He’ll awaken from the honeydew and he’ll still be as lonely and as empty as he was before he drank it. He’ll come back to fight me, to force me to act my part in his game so he can pretend that he’s happy. And I’ll play that part, as I always have, because it’s the only happiness I can give him.

But first I have to get him away from me. I won’t give him what he thinks he wants and I won’t let him arouse and confuse me again. He darts forward anyway, kissing me again, and once more I want to lose myself inside him. The boy is too damn quick and once he gets himself wrapped around me, he clings like spider’s silk.

“I love you, James,” he breathes in my mouth and with one last effort I shove him away. When he comes for me again, I do the only thing I can think of – I punch him in the mouth.

He pauses, dropping to the ground while his already impaired wits sort themselves out. Then he smiles, licking the blood off his split lip. “Warm,” he rasps, stepping forwards, “Salty, like you. Thimble me, James, taste me.” He floats towards me again and in panic I lash out again with my fist.

He falls to the ground, laughing in delight as blood pours from his nose, and as he tries to rise once more I fall upon him, hitting him again and again. Finally his eyes roll up and he stops laughing, succumbing to unconsciousness. Shaking, I climb off of his small, limp body and crawl away to catch my breath. After a few minutes, I’m sufficiently in control of myself and able to stand, and I quickly walk towards the shore, intent on returning home.

Tomorrow, everything will be normal. The sun will rise, I’ll yell at Smee and wait for Pan to come by and start a fight. If he doesn’t, I’ll go kidnap a savage for him to rescue. We’ll be back to our old song and dance, and we’ll both pretend that tonight was a bad dream. But I can still taste him on my lips, his sweetness and the honeydew clinging to my tongue. The honeydew… I pause, realizing that things aren’t as simple to fix as I hoped. I see him in my memory, sprawled naked on the ground where I’d left him, his face swelling and bruising. I can’t leave him like that. If he doesn’t sleep it off, if he awakens before he sobers up, he could hurt himself terribly in his mindless quest for pleasure. I should have left him at the Revel, he was safer from himself there. But I can’t carry him back. If I touch him again…

Carefully, I make my way back to where I’d left him, and to my relief he’s still asleep. I’ll watch over him till he wakes, till I’m sure he’s sober. If something happens to him because I removed him, because I couldn’t control my depravity, I’ll never forgive myself. But I don’t want him to see me. If he wakes and he’s still drunk, I don’t want him to come for me again. I don’t think I can refuse him anymore. So I settle into the brush, out of sight but close, and I wait, listening for him to awaken.
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Honeydew