forum Hooked // OxO with Tired-but-passionate

Started December 21, 2022 by @ElderGod-Icefire

tune

(sorry for the wait!)

Captain James Hook had come back to Neverland, again. No matter how many times he sailed away, tried to find new horizons, he always ended up back here again, Neverpeak in his spyglass and Skull Rock looming in the distance, the smoke from the Native encampment curling into the sky. Neverland was beautiful and Neverland was a prison. It was home and it was foreign, all at once. His crew knew no other place, no other way, but James could still remember, distantly, another time, in another place. London. His mother. His father. But he did not think of them much. It hurt, still.

The Spanish Main was anchored and the crew were at rest, talking and laughing and playing cards, sparring and carousing and drinking. James was in his cabin, black curls falling loosely around his shoulders and across his forehead, soft and thick. Dark stubble clung to his jawline, his blue eyes slightly clouded with the effect of the wine he held lightly in his hand. His hook rested on the table, shining in the lamplight.

His cabin was luxurious and comfortable. It was the closest thing to home he had now. A piano was tucked along one wall, though it saw less action than it used to. His hook could not play the keys with the dexterity his hands could, and most days, it was too difficult to try and play when he only, inevitably, grew frustrated at everything that was lacking. The rear of his cabin held glass windows, one of which was cracked. They looked out on the sea, Neverland visible to the right. It was a beautiful cabin, despite the scratches his hook had left in various places.

Normally, Peter Pan didn’t mind rain. He had been sleeping by himself in trees ever since the Lost Boys ex-communicated him, however, and it was difficult to get any rest when there were tiny, cold drops always falling on you. He had been meaning to discuss with the fairies of Neverland to see if they could take him in, but they take so long when negotiating those kinds of things… and of course, Peter was not one of their own. As he walked, looking for quick, easy shelter for the night, Tinkerbell sat on his shoulder with a leaf as her umbrella. It was rather pathetic and embarrassing, Peter thought. Two creatures normally with an ability to fly confined to solid ground. At least they were grounded together.
Eventually, the trees he had been walking through opened up to the shore of the island. And there, anchored in the shallow waters, was an all too familiar ship. Peter studied the Spanish Main with interest, looked over to Tink and shrugged, smirking to himself. It was as good a shelter as any. And why not pay a visit to an old enemy?
The boy, who now wasn’t quite as young as a boy anymore, reached back and covered his head with the fabric of his chlamys. Not to protect himself from the rain, but from the eyes of the ship’s crew. But who knows, maybe they wouldn’t recognize him now. Peter certainly didn’t know what he looked like, he hadn’t bothered to check. All the same, he made sure to keep out of sight. Ever since he started living alone, he thought it better to lay low, at least for the time being.
Soon enough, he had managed to climb (and fly, somewhat) back to the rear of the ship, finding Captain James Hook’s cabin windows. He didn’t enter just yet, curiosity making him just stare and watch the captain through the windows for a moment, to see if maybe he hold notice him first.

One of the windows was open, and Peter could have slipped through them if he wanted to. James didn't seem to notice him, absently rolling the back of his hook back and forth on the table, blue eyes unfocused. This was not a side of the pirate that Peter normally saw; this was not the tall, proud figure that stalked back and forth on the deck, hate in his eyes and a nasty smile dancing at the edges of his mouth, hook held ready to slash down to the bone. This was a softer, less angry man, and rather than anger, now it was melancholy that hung about him like a cloud, settling in the angle of his shoulders and the dips of his collarbones, flowing through his fingers as he lifted his glass.

He shifted, and the old, faint scar on his throat was visible in the light. He hated that mark, and usually covered it when around his crew. Sure, Smee and Starkey knew about it, and many of the others, but they did not speak of it. They all knew how he had gotten it, all knew that it had been Peter, on that fateful day that he discovered that James had aged, but no one talked of it. James had been a Lost Boy, and it was something no one talked about.

He stood from the table, moving over to his bookshelf. Long straps ran across the centers of the shelves to keep the books from falling out, and he reached over the straps to pull out a map, bringing it back to the table and unrolling it. This map was a rough outline of Neverland; due to the island's very nature, maps could never be formed that were totally accurate, but there were places that never changed location. The native encampment. Mermaid Lagoon. Skull Rock. Neverpeak. None of them moved. None of them changed. Those were some of Neverland's cardinal locations, and James knew how to reconstruct the rest of the island when it shifted and morphed.

Before he knew it, Peter had been staring at Captain Hook for all of thirty seconds. Indeed, this seemed to be a different man entirely than what he was used to seeing. The fog of sorrow that surrounded him made him really look like a man. Peter hated it, and yet it made him want to draw closer.
But Tinkerbell only became annoyed. Her chiming bell-like voice got his attention, and she scolded him before flying through the open window. Peter just tsked, immediately brushed it off, and followed her.
His bare feet met the wood flooring with a soft padding noise, water quickly spotting around him. He took down the hood, revealing his wet hair that looked almost brown from being soaked and dripping drops onto his collarbone.
A melodic laugh dripped from his tongue, too. “Well, this looks cozy enough.” His voice was deeper than he remembered. “What do you think, Tink?”

(sorry for the wait!)

The voice startled the pirate from his reverie, and he moved quickly to look at Peter, squinting at him for a long moment. James didn't seem overly…alarmed, to be honest. Then recognition flickered in his eyes, and he leaned back in his seat. He did not bother to stand, nor did he grab for his sword. He just stared at Peter, silent for a long, long moment, and then he finally spoke. "You have certainly grown, panpipes." the corner of his lip twitched in a faint smirk, gaze moving over Peter's body, taking in the young man standing before him. "Whatever happened to never growing up, hm?"

Despite the strangeness of this encounter, this interaction, James seemed perfectly comfortable and at ease, settled in his chair with his body relaxed and open. The only hint of any sort of defensiveness was the way his hook had shifted from lying flat to now pointed upwards, arm ready to slash out with it if necessary. Otherwise, he neither looked surprised nor threatened.

Peter looked around the room, inspecting its furnishings. He was a wild boy, but he could get used to this for one night. He focused on the captain and rolled his eyes, putting his hands on his hips.
“Shut your trap, codfish.” He shook himself, little droplets of water flying everywhere. Tinkerbell nearly missed being hit by one. When he stopped, he ran a hand through his hair. “Listen, I’m gonna need a place to stay for the night. I don’t see that rain letting up any time soon. Your little ship was the most convenient available shelter.”

James arched an eyebrow, gaze slowly moving over Peter again, taking in the changes to his enemy's body. "And why do you think I would allow you to stay here, hm?" he asked, finally moving to his feet in a movement that, despite the alcohol he had drunk, was still smooth and graceful and full of ease, hook glinting whenever it caught the light. "Why would I allow a grown-up boy to stay in my cabin? Have you forgotten our history, boy?" he put a slight emphasis on the word "boy", knowing that it would only make Peter angry. Knowing that that small dig was just a subtle way of calling attention to the fact that Peter was a boy no more.

“I don’t.” Peter studied his movements, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m just going to come back if you kick me out.”
He growled at the captain. “Shut up. Stop saying it like that.” He stepped forward, his arms falling to his sides and hands curling into fists.

(Dijdimfkm sorry it’s short. Also might have him act a bit extreme later idk)

(it's fine! And okay, sounds good :) )

"Then why are you asking," he paused for a long, long moment, then added, "boy." His mouth twitched in the faintest of smirks, leaning in towards Peter. He looked so much less formal here, in this settign, than he did when he and Peter normally faced off. This was a face off in his private quarters, after Peter had interrupted his private time. The white shirt, falling open at the collar, the dark slacks, and even barefoot. "And what are you going to do if I don't stop saying it, hm?"

Peter growled, baring his teeth at the captain. “This.” He rushed forward, bringing his hand up to lock onto the other man’s throat. He pinned him to the wall, getting right in his face. A raindrop was perched on the end of nose. His wet hair stuck to his cheeks in thin lines. His eyes were pierced with annoyance and frustration.
“I’ll just crush your throat so you can’t use that deep voice of yours,” he spat. “I don’t have time for this.”

(tink just like "damn free entertainment")

James stared at Peter, head tipping faintly to one side. "That deep voice of mine?" he echoed, a faint note of amusement in his voice. "And don't forget, boy, that you are the one asking me for a favor. It wouldn't be wise of you to threaten me." he didn't seem very worried about Peter's hand on his throat, he really didn't. He didn't seem at all worried that the grown-up boy had a hand on his throat. He even leaned his head forward very slightly, leaning in towards Peter with a faint smirk.

He said he didn’t have time, but really, he had all the time in the world. He just didn’t really feel like spending it like this. Peter growled, frustrated. Why should he? He let go of the captain, opting to just sit at the table. He took up all the space he could, leaning back and setting his feet on the table. “Maybe I shouldn’t ask you then.”

James wasn't going to lie that he had rather found the aggression a little attractive. Or, ah, he would have, had Peter not been his sworn mortal enemy. "Maybe you shouldn't, and get out of my ship." he jerked his chin towards the window, though his eyes never left where Peter was sitting at his table. "Then neither of us would be dealing with this conversation, now would we?" he cocked an eyebrow, taking a few steps towards teh table with a smirk flickering acrvoss his mouth.

Peter just scoffed, trying not to think about the inviting way the captain’s lips curved up. “Maybe I shouldn’t, and take what I want anyway. Isn’t that what you pirates do anyway? Take things without asking?” He retorted. He stretched himself out even more, staring James down.

"Ah, but aren't I the pirate here?" James stalked closer, looking down at Peter with a smirk still pulling at his mouth. His shirt was still falling open against his chest a little bit, the edges of his pecs visible to the eye. "And you are the little flying boy? I take things, and what… what do you do, Panpipes?"

Since his body was stretched out, Peter’s chlamys was raised up to reveal part of his midriff and the vines and leaves curling around his hips. His legs were on full display, of course. He tried not to stare too much at the captain’s chest, forcing his thoughts not to wander.
“Have you already forgotten the days when we raided the native villages, Codfish? We got plenty of loot from those trips.” He found himself grinning, despite the nervous heat in his cheeks now. But then, for some reason, the grin faded a little. Somehow James’s question made him very sad, and he hated it.

James' gaze raked over Peter, taking in the sight. He had been drinking, and he was a little tipsy, and Peter was…well, this adult version of Peter was lovely. "That doesn't make you a pirate, Peter." he replied, leaning on his hand on the table as he stared down at Peter. The other man was blushing. Interesting. He leaned closer. The pirate smelled of salt and the sea and a little bit like the alcohol he had been drinking before Peter came into his cabin.

“That’s not the point, James.” Peter could feel his heart quickening as the other man leaned closer. “The point is to take what I want.”
Of course, the sadness was still there, but the physical symptoms of his flustering added a layer of confusion to it all. What did he do? He was no longer the leader of the Lost Boys. He was an outcast, a wanderer… and god, was the captain’s scent inviting. And god, did he hate everything that he was feeling right now.
He tried glowering at James, still trying to take as much space as possible. He stretched out his body even more. “So, I’m going to stay here, no matter what you say—” As a result, the chair was flipped over and he fell to the ground with a yell.

"Is it?" he replied, watching as Peter fell, lips quirking into a faint little smirk. "You are, are you?" he replied, a low chuckle leaving him. "You think you're going to stay here? That I can't make you leave, Panpipes?" he was still leaning on the table, looking down at Peter with amusement glittering in those forget-me-not blue eyes of his. "Is that really a fight that you want to start?" it was interesting that James hadn't raised the alarm. He could have simply stepped to the door, opened it up, and brought his crew in to chase Peter out. But he hadn't.

He groaned and sat up. He shook his head, spraying water everywhere. Speaking of which, his chlamys was soaked. He stood up and pulled it over his head, revealing that he didn’t have much on underneath. He was used to not having much on at all really, so he didn’t realize how his grown body made things different. He put up the chair, setting the chlamys on it.
“Yes. I’m making myself at home, and you can’t stop me.” He stared back at the captain, the fall shaking the sadness out of him. “I don’t care that you have a whole crew out there, the rain hasn’t stopped, so I’m staying.”

James just watched, eyes glued to Peter as he removed the chlamys and revealed just how little the other man was wearing underneath. He took a few steps closer, leaning in towards Peter. He was taller than Peter, and with how close he stood, he towered over him just a little bit. "Mm… and why do you think I'll let that happen?" he asked, leaning over Peter, so close that they were very nearly touching. The only way out of the way was for Peter to sit down and put some space between them.

This was so strange. He was used to floating in the air to stay eye level with James, but now he doubted he could do that, or at least do it for long. “Because I don’t care. I’ll just stay here, and you have to deal with it.” He stared up at him defiantly, trying to keep his composure despite the blue eyes boring into him, the scent of the sea and alcohol pervading his senses, the way the captain’s chest moved slightly with each breath.