A/n: Okay, yes, I know how this looks but I promise, Hook is not a pedophile and Peter is not...gross. Hook had been misrepresented and Peter is eighteen. Though, I do have to warn all of you who are about to read this; I have taken a beloved children's story and kind of...turned it on its head, so to speak ;p Somehow, it had turned out being one of my favorite stories so, yeah...hehe. PeterxMichael/HookxPeter boyxboy love, anal, oral and all that good stuff. It's not creepy at all and Hook is actually rather fun! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy!

Never, Never, Always, Forever

Journey:

Seven years was a long time to be away from Never Never Land.

Seven years of not being able to fly, to wield a sword, to be shadowed by faeries and lusted after by mermaids. There was no freedom in growing up, too many rules to follow and not enough magic to ease the sting of homesickness. Actually, there was no magic. Nothing. Not a drop and he had long ago given up on feeling anything other than dried up, lonely. He was Peter Pan. He thrived on magic. Magic and imagination and the freedom of being able to go anywhere he wanted without ever having to answer to anyone. Seven years and it was time to go back home.

Peter knew why he had gone to London in the first place. When a pretty girl with strawberry blond hair and her two brothers had crashed into his life, he hadn't realized just how much of a mess they would make. The only person he had to blame was himself. He had brought them there in the first place. Tinkerbell had tried to warn him but he had ignored her, a testament to how arrogant he had been, thinking the little blond pixy had been jealous. Oh, how he should have listened! He had thought that in bringing Wendy, John and Michael along, he would be gaining three new additions to his rowdy bunch of disciples. He had thought he was making their family better. But he had never come across someone quiet like Wendy Darling before and the next thing he knew, they were leaving and taking just about all of the Lost Boys with them.

How he could have made such a grave miscalculation was beyond him and the defection of the boys he had called his brothers had cut him deeply. He supposed the promise of a real family, with a mother and a father, things that every lost child dreamed of, was just too strong of a lure to ignore. Even with the ability to fly, to see every wish come true, Never Land was no longer good enough. And he tried to shake it off, he really did. He was Peter Pan, king of Never Land! What did he need them for anyway? He could still thrive as the self-proclaimed ruler without the presence of his crew. Tinkerbell understood. She stayed. It had only been them in the beginning anyway.

Yet, it had not been enough and every night when he went to sleep, he found the usual ruckus of sleeping near more than a dozen other boys had been silenced and it was deafening. And he tried, tried to tell himself that it didn't matter. But it had and being on his own like that, now that he had gotten a taste of what it might be like with a family, had stumped his heart, making him feel a melancholy ache like he had never known before in his life.

Until he couldn't stand it anymore. Every night of staring at the stars, wondering, missing and he had just leapt into the air, eyes trained on a particular star, his little pixy in toe to find out what it might be like on the other side.

Really, though, he should have known. After all, he was Peter Pan. With a spirit such as his, he would never be tamed and he would never stop longing to leap into the air once again, to be set free. It was safe to say he had tried. He had slipped in through a familiar window in the dead of night, finding all of his lost friends, finding John and little Michael and Wendy, all fast asleep in their beds. He had smiled, feeling less lonely than he had in months. The little faerie on his shoulder had heaved a sad little sigh, asked him if this was really what he wanted and he had nodded his unruly head, answering softly that it was. She didn't have to stay with him but she did because they were, by that point, inseparable and he could no sooner live without her than she could without him. Yet that hadn't been enough and he had settled onto the window seat, cool night air on his back and waited uneasily for the sun to rise.

He should have known.

In the morning all of his older friends, who had been adopted by the Darling family, had cheered upon seeing him curled up on that hard window seat, dreams shifting, dark and he had somehow found his confident smile as he faced them, announcing that he'd like to stay for a while with them, if the already enlarged family would accept him. Wendy had been more than thrilled to ask on his behalf and at the time he didn't recognize the glimmer of plans that had swirled in her bright eyes. He knows now he should have listened to Tinkerbell. Then he had been too caught up with being accepted, given a family. Of course they had accepted him. What was one more, after all, and Mrs. Darling's heart was so big, she couldn't turn away a child without a place or a family. And he had tried to tell himself that he was happy because wasn't this what he had wanted?

Despite that, though, he had trouble adjusting to the lack of freedom, to being just one among many, when he had been a mighty monarch that never aged, that was respected, had real enemies…could fly. Maybe it was because he was the most wild or that he still had his little pixy friend but he got into terrible trouble in the beginning, wanting to liven the dark city up just a little bit. It turned out, though, that adults were not of the same mindset as he and he often found himself sitting in a corner with a smarting behind and Mr. Darling eyeing him from the hall. Many times he thought of going back. He could; he still had Tinkerbell after all but then he would think about how lonely he had been, how the ache had driven him here in the first place and he turned away from the glittering night sky, soft reassurances pressed against his neck with soft, tiny lips.

The thing with living in London was that he would age.

At first that thought vexed him, making him feel trapped and he watched as first Wendy became an adult and then the rest of the boys, him not far behind. But it wasn't so terrible had he had once thought. Actually, once he had gotten used to the idea that the name Peter Pan meant nothing here and he had gotten wise as to the kind of pranks he played, he rather liked the life he had settled into. They went to school, met all kinds of new people, learned things every day, things he could never have imagined. Peter loved learning. It was like a new kind of adventure, soaking up information like a sponge, surprising everyone in the family when he became head of his class. It wasn't about the grades, though. That he couldn't give a rat's ass about. It was about the new things he could discover every day, opening new worlds, letting him explore to his heart's content.

All the same, he still missed his true home, the place where he could still fly, could never get old, could always be free. The other boys, they forgot, thoughts becoming more grounded, stable but he could never forget. His memories remained firm, always at the corner of his eye. They slowly stopped believing; unable to recall the magic of a place they had all called their home for many long years. Tinkerbell remained always with him, hiding under his fall of thick, chestnut hair he had grown long and left in a tail just so that the little golden pixy might remain unseen. That might have been one of the reasons he couldn't forget, why he could seem to stop staring when the sun had disappeared from the sky, leaving the sweeping expanse of silvery stars in its wake.

The longing in his heart left him torn, ripping him in two broken pieced for seven long years. He loved the family that he had been adopted into. Mrs. Darling's sweet disposition giving him more love than he could ever have dreamed of and her stern husband had an undeniable soft spot for the boy, even if he was a bit on the wild side. All the boys had become his brothers, their closeness unshakeable. Yet in his heart, locked away, he had another home and he knew, even if it was a long time from now, he would once again return to find his place among the stars.

Peter found growing up to be a rather…interesting experience. What he hadn't realized was it was just another adventure, things learned and experienced along the way unique and valuable. And, many times, strange.

Never before had he been conscious of his looks but one thing he picked up on as being a mortal was that looks seemed to be important. The first thing that had been done upon his arrival was his hair had been tamed (somewhat) and he had been given stuffy clothes that were neat and acceptable. Not to mention boring but that he kept between himself and Tinkerbell, who had giggled for twenty minutes after he had mumbled it under his breath. Yet as time went by, he saw how his brothers would stand before the mirror, judging themselves with critical eyes against a standard he did not quite understand. He was lucky if he remembered to comb his hair; that was how little he really cared for his appearance.

Then something happened that had him sneaking into the bathroom one night to stand before the silvery oval of the glass, assessing.

When Wendy had turned eighteen and he had been only fifteen, she had come home with several of her own friends from school, the girls that he had only met a few times before staying the night in celebration of Wendy's birthday. All the boys in the house, the ones that were not in boarding school, that is (everyone but himself three of the youngest boys and Michael) had been in an uproar. They were girls, after all, and would be staying the night in the same house. Peter had been confused, never really understanding the appeal of a woman, choosing to hang back and observe. But after dinner, when the boys were in the old nursery, the girls on the other side of the room and talking softly to themselves, he caught a snatch of their conversation, hearing his own name spoken.

"…about Peter? He's rather cute," one of the girls, the shortest one with dark hair was saying and he tried not to turn his head in their direction. He was once again sprawled on the window seat, eyes on the darkened sky, ignoring Michael and the others while they played a rowdy card game of war as he dreamed of flying when the feminine voice caught his attention. There was a little round of giggles, confusing him before Wendy's strident voice cut through the racket.

"I used to think so too. I even wanted to marry him but I don't think he'll ever grow up. He's just a little kid," she dismissed him so easily and while he gulped at the thought of marrying Wendy, who was nothing more than an older sister to him, he rather resented being called a little kid. He had grown just like everyone else, had made an effort to find his place in this world but that was all anyone thought about him. As an untamable, dismissible child.

"But he's already quite the looker," this was from the tall blond he had remembered was named Clarisse and he blushed furiously was another round of giggled agreement pealed through the room, someone adding a "can't wait to see what he looks like when he gets older," that bounced shrilly against the walls. Peter buried his face in a pillow, eyes caught once again by the silvery web of stars but for once he was not dreaming of what was beyond them. He was thinking about what he had heard and what it meant. He had never been very aware of how he looked. Looks had never really mattered before, not for him or for anyone else. But now, now the seed was planted and even when Tinkerbell grumbled darkly in his ear, wishing she could pull their hair for such foolish drivel, he was curious. So once everyone had drifted off to foreign shores of distant dreams, he had slipped from his bed, careful not to wake the pixy curled up on his pillow, he padded softly to the bathroom and silently flicked on the light

Now, he still didn't understand the standards that made people good looking but perhaps he did fit it. Wide, startlingly green eyes stared back at him from under a thick row of dark eyelashes, making his gaze rather girly, chestnut hair falling over his forehead and pulled back into a neat tie at the back of his neck. The hair itself was wavy, thick and nearly reached the small of his back. His face was still young looking, but his nose promised to be narrow and straight, his lips full, always ready to smile, cheekbones already high. His skin was the color of toffee, as he still couldn't seem to keep himself indoors for very long, a soft sprinkling of freckles arching over the bridge of his nose and over his cheeks. At only fifteen (he actually wasn't very sure just how old he really was, having been a child and immortal for countless years but fifteen felt right) he was just starting his growth spurts, keeping pace with John who was two years older, promising height. He was still thin but his shoulders were already broad and body long, something he supposed he would grow into.

All in all, it wasn't terrible and he stared at himself, green eyes unwavering as he tried to figure out why something such as this was so important. It shouldn't matter what he looked like. Right?

Even so, Peter tried harder after that, trying to keep himself neat, beginning to look at other people and see how his own looks stacked up against theirs. It confused him and made his head hurt and made Tinkerbell laugh at him when he tried to tame his thick waves that still fell into his eyes. And he noticed that people looked at him, began to see him, a glint in their eyes that he couldn't read. It made him feel uncomfortable, strange, unable able to read the jealous looks he received from his brothers, the pride he found in his parent's eyes and the increasing want he would find in not just Wendy's eyes but many on her friend's too. It made him long ever more for his home, for freedom, for the place behind the stars where he could just be himself without the world forcing itself upon him.

Peter passed his sixteenth birthday, then his seventeenth, learning, growing, starting to understand. The more he saw of the world that was London, the more complicated it became. He was sent away like all of his brothers to boarding school in the country side, and for a while he found a place where his was more comfortable, the wide open hills and glades tugging at his heart, dulling the longing just a bit. Just like everything else, this was just another journey, another opportunity to learn, to make more friends.

It was also the first place he learned about sex. Three hundred teenage boys living together in cramped quarters and it was bound to happen. He knew about boys and girls, about kissing and the like. He knew about marriage and a little bit about where babies came from by listening to people talk. But in reality, Peter was incredibly naïve and just when he thought he was beginning to understand, he was thrown all over again. Surprisingly enough, it was Michael that took him under his wing, the younger boy already rather experienced in his young age and who was rather cavalier with who he shared that experience with.

Peter had just wanted to find a little familiarity after a hard day of class and getting pushed around by fellow classmates (something else he couldn't understand; he had never done anything to offend anyone but everywhere he went, there were always the select few that tried to make his life hell) seeking out Michael in his room. His head had thudded angrily at his temples and he didn't have the familiar presence riding his shoulder as Tinkerbell had gotten mad at him that morning and had flown off in a huff. It was after curfew but he had found away to sneak through the cold, sweeping stone halls and not get caught, footsteps light, a skill he had learned when raiding certain pirate ships many years ago. Seeing the door to his brother's room had been somewhat a relief, the need to collapse at the edge of the younger boy's bed and vent weighting him limbs. Unsuspecting, he had pushed the door open and his greeting had shriveled up and died on his tongue.

There, on Michael's bed was his brother himself sprawled amid wrinkled sheets, wearing not a stitch and in the arms of another boy the brunette recognized from his Astronomy lecture. Michael's legs were parted and lifted, hitched around the other's slim hips, fingers digging into a sturdy back, head tossed back against the pillow. At first Peter thought he was in pain and was about to move to help him, not understanding what he was really seeing when the younger boy opened his eyes, looking up into the face of his companion who was moving in a smooth rhythm between his brother's legs and whispered in a thick voice Peter didn't recognize for more.

That was when Peter realized it wasn't pain he was seeing on his younger brother's face but something else and he stood in the doorway, stunned, as he watched, watched the slighter boy gasp and writhe, voice crying out to the ceiling before he was arching up, looking lost. He swallowed hard, barely comprehending what he had seen and couldn't even react when the two boys on the bed discovered him at the door, wide eyed and speechless. The boy whose name he didn't know was rather upset at first, threatening to smash Peter's face in but Michael was able to placate him with soft words and a gentle kiss (here a little more understanding had trickled into the brunette's numb mind). Soon the brothers were left alone, the younger still bare, gleaming with sweat and something else Peter couldn't name, covering himself with just a bed sheet before beckoning the older boy with a wary look in his eyes.

"How much did you see?" Michael had asked softly as Peter walked over to the disheveled bed on wooden legs, wishing he could understand this better. He struggled for an answer, face still blank, wondering at the heat that had suffused his body.

"I…I don't know," he whispered, voice broken in the warm, dark room and there had been pity in his brother's shadowed blue eyes. A slender hand reached out and caught his own, pulling him the last few steps to the edge of the bed. He sat abruptly, confusion stinging, wondering if his younger brother was upset with him. Then that hand curled around his cheek, soft and warm, offering the comfort he had come there seeking in the first place.

"Poor Peter. You still don't understand, do you?" he might have been annoyed at feeling so patronized by someone who was, for all intents and purposes, his younger brother. But he had just shaken his head, green eyes shadowed and wide, giving in when he was coaxed into curling into Michael's lap, trying to identify the glittering liquid on the younger boy's abdomen as his long hair was freed so slender fingers might card through it. The gesture relaxed him, preparing him for the explanation that was to come.

And Michael did explain it, in shocking, minute detail, telling Peter everything he knew, even offering brief illuminations into some experiences until his head was reeling and the heat in his body becoming uncomfortable. He didn't even realize his brother had finally stopped talking until his head was being gently lifted so he could look into shadowy pools of blue.

"Would you like to try?" the offer had taken him off guard, shocking him and while he could feel the stirrings of something different, heady, frightening, he just swallowed and bit his lip, caught in new territory that was more than a little terrifying. Learning had always been an adventure to him, something to relish but this was something he wasn't ready for. He hadn't even known something such as this even existed until now. So when he answered, his voice shook, ashamed for turning down a chance at learning something new.

"No…I…I don't think…no…" the last word was whispered and ducked his head, thick hair sweeping down to cover his face and there was a soft sigh as one of Michael's hands brushed along his cheek.

"It's alright, Peter. I understand," his voice had been soft and kind as he brushed slender knuckles over tawny skin. Peter's heart caught when the younger boy breathed the next words, "Ah, you're so beautiful, Peter," he shivered, once again terrified and fled the room, hating his weakness. Michael may understand but this was all too new, too big and he couldn't wrap his head around it. After all these years, he had just finally come to understand what it meant to love someone. He hadn't realized there was something that came after that.

After his talk with Michael, though, something had changed. Because he wanted to know. He wanted to understand how something like what he had seen, like what his brother had described could be so potent, so strong. It was the first thing he had ever kept from Tinkerbell, mulling over it when he was supposed to be sleeping, listening to the soft snores of his roommate and the pixy curled next to his ear. He understood, now, how people's looks came into play, understood had love could turn from brotherly and familiar into something deeper, more compelling. And he began to think, would he have someone like that someday? He had never thought about it before because he hadn't really comprehended its existence. Yet, now…

A week later saw him sneaking from his room and slipping out onto the grounds to wander aimlessly with the glittering stars above his head. He hadn't expected to find Michael waiting for him in the gardens, a soft look in his eyes. There the offer made to him a week ago was repeated. This time, he accepted.

During the rest of his time at school, he learned about another side of being human.

Michael told him, before he touched Peter, that men usually did this kind of thing with women. It was the natural order of things but the older boy had just scoffed. Girls had never really meant much to him, other than that they existed and were people too. And once he knew a little bit more, he cringed at the thought of doing such with a girl. The younger boy had laughed quietly at his reaction before cupping Peter's chin with a gentle hand and pulling him into his first kiss.

What he and the youngest Darling boy did was not out of love. They were fond of one another, sure, but they were just mere lessons, another opportunity to experience something new and little by little, his eyes were opened, his fear trickling away, giving way to something a little more familiar. Longing.

Every time he would go back to his room, tired, sated, there was still something missing in his heart that he couldn't put a finger on. Each time, his eyes would lift to the heavens and he could wonder, wonder why even when he had something that was more than satisfying, it could also be less than fulfilling. He liked it. A lot. Michael was a good teacher and a gentle lover but Peter was sure that there had to be more to this. And when his head tipped back, caught in the silvery web above his head where his home winked quietly, calling to him, he couldn't shake the awful feeling that there was something missing.

All the while, Peter grew, filling out his frame, becoming beautiful, tall, slender, impossible hair now reaching past his waist, green eyes snapping in his handsome face, the envy of his classmates. It was still something he didn't put much stock in and got flustered every time his brother called him beautiful. He would much rather be able to fly then than be handsome. He learned, came to understand and with each passing day, wished to be set free.

It hit him the day he returned home, the same day he turned eighteen, became a man, just what it was he hadn't been able to pinpoint until now. As a matter of fact, it had shocked him so bad, even Tinkerbell was worried by his sudden silence. For when he had looked up into the sky at the stars as was his habit while stepping off the train, the face that came to mind nearly bawled him over. Michael had caught the sudden jaggedness in his demeanor as he brain stuttered to a halt, throwing him a frown before they were greeted by the rest of the family (what was left of it, at this point). Thank the stars for Michael for he was able to draw the attention from the green eyes that had turned inward, shut off. Even the shrill voice buzzing in his ear wavered, became inconsequential. For with that face had brought a jolt of desire like he had never felt before, a face familiar from the place he was from, from his true home.

The face that belonged to a one Captain James Hook.

At first Peter had been overwhelmed with self disgust. Hook was old! He had tried to kill the boy countless times, using the most despicable methods and coming up with the most evil plots. The pirate had been the one thing he was sure he wouldn't miss when he left Never Land. And yet…

A week after his arrival back in the Darling house hold, a large formal dinner was held in honor of those who were still at home. Most of the others had already married, moved away, found lives of their own but there were some still left, like himself, Michael, Benny and George and little Ronny and they were all forced into their finest, stuffiest clothes. He had buried his still shocking revelation somehow, managing to function, but he forgot how to fasten his bowtie as he stood in the dim light of his bedroom, the one he shared with brothers already gone and his hair wouldn't cooperate, leaving him frustrated and still in front of his mirror by the time their guests started showing up. Tears were a sign of weakness but as a flash of a cruel smile and a sharp hook flashed through his mind, he dropped his face into his hand and sighed heavily, the back of his eyes prickling painfully. He still hated himself for thinking of someone such as the pirate Captain the way he had been but along side the self loathing, there was something else and it was eating away at him, the longing in his heart becoming a black pit with giant teeth, threatening to tear him asunder. He was so distracted, that he didn't even hear his door open until there was a soft chuckle behind him. Startled green eyes met bright blue and he returned the smile despite himself.

"You look like you could use some help," said Michael as he came to stand between the older boy and the mirror, peering up into Peter's face with a gentle arch of his eyebrows. The brunette sighed, raking his long fingers through his hair.

"I never did get the hang of tying one of these things," he muttered darkly, plucking at the stiff black material and was grateful when smaller hands knocked his own out of the way so the younger boy could tie it himself, face closed off. The atmosphere had changed that day, as if change was sneaking up on him and was about to give him a swift kick in the pants, making him jittery and a little sad. He just wished that whatever it was, the new adventure would be worthwhile.

Peter snagged the younger boy's hands when he was done tying the brunette's tie, catching the bright gaze, hating feeling like he was saying goodbye and wasn't even aware that he was leaving.

"Thank you, Michael," he said, voice that had become startlingly deep slightly broken, catching and the smile that he received in return told him the young boy knew he wasn't just talking about the bow tie. A slender hand gently slid over one tan cheek, the smaller boys' expression wistful.

"Can I brush your hair?" he asked in a small voice and, a lump thick in the back of his throat, he nodded, wishing there was something he could say that would make the awful feeling of something about to end go away. He sat the edge of his bed, letting his younger brother brush out his wild waves that he never did manage to tame then tie it back. Then his chin was caught and he shared the last kiss with the younger Darling boy, hard and desperate. The cerulean eyes that lifted to his were filled with tears and there was a hand fisted at the front of his good jacket as the younger boy titled his head to the side, mouth pressed in a firm line.

"Why do I feel like you're about to say goodbye?" the younger boy whispered and he choked back his own tears, wishing he knew the answer to that. Instead he hugged the smaller boy gently, offering not a word, and somehow, when they finally joined the party, they were both smiling.

The party was boring, filled with strangers and stiff manners and too much perfume and never since coming to this world did he want more than to be able to fly, to find his freedom among the stars. But here, he could not fly so he grit his teeth, hiding behind smile after false smile, unwilling to hurt the people he loved. There was good food and respectable dancing, over which his mind supplied great pits of leaping flames and the wild beat of the drums as dark skinned creatures flowed to the steady beat. His past overlay his present, confusing him, the longing spiking painfully. When he shook someone's hand, he saw blood thirsty pirates waving pistols and when he once again declined a young woman a dance, he saw beautiful women with scaly tails instead of legs trying to pull him into their watery domain, trying to seduce him. Most of all, he kept seeing the face of a pirate who was tall, commanding, not as ugly as he once thought, dark onyx eyes watching him over a stiff, red jacket. And then, at the end of the night, a bright cry of the crow on the morning air overlaid the announcement that had his heart stalling in his chest and his fear coming catapulting back.

He was to be betrothed to a girl his parents had picked out, a complete stranger, someone he had never met before.

Shock rendered him sick and while he might have been smiling, accepting the announcement with a plastic expression frozen in place, the feeling of change caught up to him, leaving him shaking, determined. Even the little pixy buzzing angrily under the fall of his hair didn't move him. He understood, then, why that night was going to be his last in London.

It was time for him to go home.

The horizon was already dull silver in the east when everyone had finally fallen asleep and he nudged Tinkerbell on his pillow, the soft touch of his wings gentle across his fingertips.

"Wake up, Tink," he whispered, letting her blink awake, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She spoke her confusion in a small voice and he smiled gently, knowing she had wanted to go home as much as he had these past seven years, "I need some of your dust," he answered, "We're going home," Spoken aloud, those words had a bright excitement flickering in his chest, warm, familiar, mirroring the loops the little faerie was doing around the room. He had never changed from his party clothes, the notion of finally, finally being able to return to Never Land settling under his skin like a bright glow until he could barely contain it.

Peter stole through the quiet house, pausing at Michael's closed door to slip a note under it, pressing a kiss to the cool wooden panels before making his way up to the old nursery, skin nearly bursting from excitement. A small voice giggled in his ear as he threw the windows open, hair caught in the forceful breeze and he hoped he could remember what it meant to fly. He had unearthed a familiar sword, now a little too small, hooking it in his belt and before he leaped onto the window sill, the last dregs of night still cool against his face, he inscribed his goodbye into the wall. It was better like this anyway; Peter had never been very good at saying goodbye.

Then he was before the window, the warm web of golden dust settling over his skin as memories from his home flooded over him, heart humming, finally, finally. It was with this joy he soared into the dawn, eyes trained on that star, deep voice adding his laughter to the soft soprano circling his head.

And in the little room he left behind, his words carved deep into the wallpaper and wood…

Thank you for being my family…Someday soon,

Peter Pan

Michael smiled sadly when he found the little note shoved under his door that morning, knowing as soon as the announcement had been made at dinner the night before that that day would be the last he would see of Peter.

I'm sorry I can't give you a proper goodbye. Thank you for everything you gave me; I think I understand now. Tell everyone I'll miss them,

Peter.

It had to happen this way. He knew Peter had to leave eventually. With a wistful sigh, he climbed back in bed, curling against the warm body of the same boy he had fallen in love with back at school who had snuck into the house late last night after the confusion of the party, earning a soft mumble. With Peter, it had never been about love but a mutual understanding, a discovery, a process of growing up. He just hoped as he wound his arms around a warm torso, steady pulse against his ear, that Peter would find what he was looking for.

To be continued...

...and yes, Hook will be coming into the story, not to worry!