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James stirred awake, the weight on his hips pulling him from sleep. He cracked open his eyes, blinking against the dim light to find Peter straddling him, an impudent grin plastered on his face.
“What the fuck are you doing?” James rasped, confusion mixing with a hint of irritation.
Peter shrugged, feigning innocence. “What, am I not allowed to miss you?” He tilted his head, pupils blown wide in the darkness of the cabin.
Without thinking, James’s gaze dropped instinctively to Peter's crotch, his brow furrowing in surprise.
James knew the deal: Peter only showed up like this for three reasons. Boredom wasn't likely—he'd been busy turning the Mermaid Lagoon into a fighting pit for the last week. Lust? No—equally unlikely, the little pest usually led with his dick if that’s what he wanted. So that left… Anxiety.
Since Peter wasn’t rutting on him, odds leaned toward the latter.
James held Peter's gaze, waiting him out. His façade cracked slowly—first the smile faltering, then fingers clutching at James's nightshirt.
"Fine," Peter snapped. "I had a nightmare. I wanted—" He stopped, already shifting away. "Forget it. It's stupid." Peter shuffled up on his knees, attempting to look aloof, but James saw right through it. “I’ll go—”
He caught Peter's thigh in his hand—the flesh warm, muscle tense beneath his fingers—and gave a small, anchoring squeeze. He kept his voice low, rough from sleep. “What was it about, then?”
Peter's lips twitched, jaw set stubbornly. He glanced aside, the lamplight catching the gold dust scattered across his cheekbones. “You disappeared off the island,” he muttered, too brisk. “Was barely a nightmare.”
James huffed, unconvinced, but let Peter have his lie. He could feel the pulse racing under his palm, the way Peter's weight had shifted but not pulled away. If it had been nothing, Peter would have flown straight through the hull. Instead, here he was—clinging, pretending indifference.
“Mm.” James slid his thumb along the inside of Peter’s thigh, feeling the faint tremor there. “World ends if I vanish, does it?” He tried to keep it light, but the words came out softer than he intended.
Peter glared at him, eyes narrowing. "Don't flatter yourself. It's just—whatever," he snapped, but he still hadn't moved.
James let his fingers rest, loose at Peter’s thigh. He tutted softly, the sound barely audible in the cabin's quiet. His fingers remained on Peter's thigh, neither pulling nor pushing away. "Do you want to talk about it, or...?" The question hung between them, unfinished but clear in its gentleness.
Peter scowled, an irritable twist of mouth and nose, and then—without warning—dropped onto the bed next to him with a graceless thud. He wriggled until he pressed up against James’s side, his face half-buried in the hollow between James's neck and shoulder. Peter exhaled—a hot, annoyed huff that stirred the loose hairs on James’s chest.
Silence hung between them. Then Peter muttered, voice muffled by skin and nightshirt, "If you died, I'd at least have your body," he mumbled. "But you just... disappeared."
James hummed, quiet and low in his chest. He let his thumb drift in a slow arc against Peter’s back, watching how the gold dust on Peter’s skin caught the lamp’s tired glow. “You really are horribly obsessed with me, aren’t you, Pan?”
He expected a quick retort, maybe a shove, but Peter only drew a sharp breath and pressed his face further into James’s neck. For once, no sarcasm—just, “More than anything or anyone before.”
James stared at the dark planks above, tracing the knots in the wood with his gaze. Peter lay beside him, stiff and warm. The cabin was silent except for the soft sounds of Peter’s breath, occasionally disrupted by the faint rattle of wind against glass.
Eventually, James let out another small hum. “Frankly, I’d rather disappear,” James muttered, dryly. “God only knows what you’d do with my corpse if you had the chance.”
Peter jerked his head up, glaring through a mess of copper and brown hair. “Oh—fuck you, I’d do nothing.” His nose scrunched, hand coming up to brush the hair from his eyes. “Probably. Might… I don’t know. Maybe I’d fuck it. Whatever. Shut up.”
James snorted, biting back the rest of his laughter. Peter was never one to keep his more… personal thoughts personal. Not that James was complaining, however.
Peter crawled back into James’s side with a graceless huff, pulling the covers up so they tangled around his hips, burying his nose against James’s collarbone. He tensed for a moment, then slumped, warm and begrudgingly vulnerable.
“I don’t like that you know me so well,” Peter muttered, his words half-lost in the fabric of James’s shirt. “It’s embarrassing. Makes me feel—” He broke off, almost inaudible. “You always guess what I’d do. It’s boring.”
James shook his head, the faintest smile on his mouth. Peter sulked against him, radiating annoyance and some more private need, his sprawl careless and possessive. For a moment, James just watched him—close enough to see the flecks of gold in Peter’s eyes, clenched jaw as if he expected to be pushed away.
Instead, James leaned forward and pressed his lips lightly to Peter’s. The boy’s breath hitched before softening.
Peter didn’t hesitate. He surged forward, hungry and desperate, hands quickly moving into James’s hair. The sudden weight of him straddling James's thigh was comforting in a way. Fingers tangled in James’s curls, tugging—not enough to hurt, just to hold him.
James slid his arm around Peter’s waist, pulling him closer. Their noses bumped, breath mingling sharp and shallow. He let Peter press him back into the mattress, mouth opening under the insistent push of his tongue.
James let himself sink into it for a minute, the taste of Peter’s mouth bitter with blood and sweet with honey. His back ached against the mattress, shoulder pressed awkwardly beneath Peter’s elbow, but something was grounding in the discomfort.
Peter took the invitation to deepen the kiss, hands wandering, too quick and eager for James’s patience. James felt the scrape of Peter’s jewellery against his scalp, caught the sharp edge of a knee digging into his hip. He had half a mind to complain…
James broke away first, breathing hard, the sound wet between them. “Are you satisfied?” he muttered, voice thick. “Because I still want another hour, at least.” He grumbled,
Peter only hummed—a small, pleased sound vibrating against James’s lips—and kissed him again. And again. And again…
James didn’t get another hour.