Author: Mosh
Fandom: Peter Pan
Title: Only in Silence
Pairing: Hook/Pan
Rating: NC-17
Summary: They could touch without violence, but only at that specific time, in that specific place.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to J.M. Barrie. No money being made, no copyright or trademark infringement intended.
A/N: There's a little bit in here especially for JPP, but I won't point it out - I'll leave that up to her to find. This is the first Panfic I wrote that didn't have dark, violent themes. O.o Thanks to Lise for the speedy beta. 900 words.

Note: You may not archive, re-post, or alter any of my stories without my permission. Please contact me first. Thanks!

It was an unuttered rule between them. It stood as strongly in their minds as the unwritten, unuttered rules of the island. They could touch without violence, but only there in that place, and only at that specific time, and only in utter silence.

Fairies never, ever ventured too close to the singing Lerya Anwa flowers that clustered in the sparse sunny parts of the dense forest. Fairy legend has it that one day, a long time ago, a particularly inviting looking Lerya Anwa flower had opened its broad pink petals and swallowed one unfortunate and overly curious fairy whole. There was no proof of this; there was no proof of anything in a land so timeless and inclined to change depending on who was looking at it and on what particular day. It was hardly ever mentioned nowadays, though it was never forgotten. All fairy folk, even the ones who had only overheard the rumours, knew deep down that one must not approach the Lerya Anwa, no matter what pretty tune it saw fit to play.

Neverbirds were never killed. Never. Not for food, nor the use of their sleek, golden feathers. This was because Neverbird tears had the power to heal, as strong as any doc leaf balm.

Unwritten, unuttered rules of the island. Nobody could remember where they originated, either, or who had set them down, and from whence that person had come... but there they were. And they were abided by, almost unconsciously, so it was not an issue.

This is what Peter Pan told himself every time he flew towards the cavernous hills, nothing more than a streak of boy darting across the twilight sky.

This is what James Hook told himself every time he climbed the steep pathway he had memorized, rising above the tree tops into the cold, dizzying heights of the caves.

Once, they had sat side by side, looking out of the cave into the darkness beyond, lost in their thoughts of this and that. And each other. The candle in Hook's lantern had burned down half way, before he had risen and taken leave. He'd heard the boy leave shortly after, the whooshing of his flight down the side of the hills gradually growing fainter.

Once, Peter had explored Hook's face with his fingertips. Hook had sat perfectly still, the boy on his lap, watching his young hand reach up - breath bated from both sides. Then he had felt the brush of warm skin against his cheek, and Peter's fingers dancing lightly across his moustache, the boy's pale blue eyes alight with curiosity and barely hidden excitement. And often the flicker of apprehension. But that was understandable; the captain found it hard to mask his own worry, as it ticked away in the pit of his stomach.

But as yet, neither had spoken on these nights. Nights that were few and far between - because, only sometimes, when the sky was starless, when the Mermaid's eerie cries echoed around the bay, when all of Neverland slept bar them, did they feel lonely enough to seek each other out. And only in silence would they refrain from duelling, or provoking. Neither daring to break that rule, but both often deeply afraid the other suddenly would.

Until they kissed.

Which was when it was safe to relax, because nothing would pass between them but tongues and touches and breath.

Once, Hook had spent an age running his cheeks and lips over Peter's oddly long eyelashes, and for a moment, they had become the centre point of the universe, fluttering wildly under his gentle assault. He had almost laughed. Almost. If Peter had sensed it, he had been unable to inquire, for the rule prevented him from doing so.

Once, Peter had dared to unbutton Hook's jacket and shirt, and run his hands across the pirate's broad chest, tracing the dark shapes of tattoos and feeling the softness of hair lower down, beyond his navel. Hook had shuddered and gasped, but not made a sound. He had looked more human then than he ever had before, his usually harsh face animated with pleasure.

Peter gradually learned all of the places that drew out that humanity in Hook; his neck, just below his earlobes, that when kissed, made him clutch Peter tightly to him. His chest, that when nipped, made him arch his back and then tense. His hair, that when pulled lightly, made his eyelids fall closed slowly. And the rest, that when stroked, made him breathe deep and shallow, then kiss Peter fiercely, before wet heat beat into Peter's palm.

And they would go back to their lives; Peter flying down towards the forest, scoured of Hook's scent by the biting rush of the wind. Once, he had looped in the air before landing, feeling lighter than he had in a long time.

Hook would begin his steady decline, stumbling down the uneven, rocky path with his lantern held out in front of him to light the way. Once, the candle had burned down to the wick. It had extinguished by the time he reached the bay, but from there he had only needed to follow the lights burning faintly from his ship in the distance.

And often, within mere days of these encounters, they would meet and duel, swords clinking and thrashing together so quickly that nobody watching would be able to tell where one ended and the other began.

~Fin~