tampered | Log; Backdated; Ongoing;

Log; Backdated; Ongoing;

When; March 7th
Rating; R?
warnings: !CHAN!
Characters; Peter Pan

all_butone & Jas Hook

ironhook
Summary; Professor James offers Peter help in bringing his marks up. ♥
Log; The Academy, a giant library of sorts-- James could not think of a more fitting place. It didn't take him very long to find the room he was searching for (and how convenient was it, that each era had its own little room? he might have to mention it back at Meillure), and when he stepped in, surrounded by lyrical sonnets and plays and everything he loved, the professor let out an involuntary sigh. Peter could say what he liked against art and reading, but it was one of the few fleeting joys James had, and he wouldn't let anyone take it from him.

He didn't expect Peter to be on time- when was he ever?- and so took to wandering the bookshelves, long fingers tracing spines thick and thin alike, embossed letters, smoothed letters. He paused at what looked to be a centenary edition of Hamlet, as well as backstory and side information. Perfect. Really, all he needed to do was pass this unit with flying colours, and he would already be well on his way to avoiding a return to the orphanage.

Cracking open the book, he lounged, shoulderblades against shelves, ankles crossed, braided hair over one shoulder as he carefuly, almost lovingly, went through the yellowed pages.

More books. Brilliant. Bloody sodding brilliant, and Peter rubbed at his eyes in annoyance as he made his way through the winding halls. His head was killing him, and it wasn't even the physical ailment that was bothering him- but the threat lingering over his head. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that he was capable of passing the class. If nothing else, most of Peter's professors had come to recognize how bright he was- but sitting down to go over the same boring details held no interest for him. It had always been that way- the reason why he'd been sent away from the orphanage to begin with, but now that he was here....
as much as the boy would complain, the school had really grown on him. He'd made friends, and more importantly, finally felt like he belonged somewhere.

Green eyes lifted to take a glance ahead, spotting his destination before burying his face in the book once more. Stolen copy of Hamlet in hand and by now almost entirely finished- Peter devoured the text, entirely engrossed as a slender finger turned the page and he stepped inside the library door. If he noticed the decor, the boy gave no hint of it, the bag slung over his shoulder clinking heavily against his leg as he made his way to a nearby table- shrugging it onto the floor and climbing onto the tabletop to take a sprawling seat without so much as an upwards glance. It was more than likely that his Professor was already here, but with only a handful of pages left to go, he doubted there was much the man could do to help.

Forget-me-nots lifted as soon as the tinkle of pencils, charms and books caught his ear, watching as the boy walked purposefully to the table and sat down-- with the pilfered copy of Hamlet in his hand. James couldn't help but smirk just the slightest bit. He hadn't had a doubt in his mind that it was in Peter's posession. The lad was constantly taking his things-- the professor didn't doubt he had some kind of collection hidden away, much like that of a magpie.

He quietly closed the tomb in his hand, holding it propped to his wrist as his arm lowered and he mutely crossed to the table. Peter was nearly done the book, but if James was right, then the boy had just blown through the play in a single day. There was a difference between reading and retaining, and if there was one thing James knew about Peter, it was the fact that he was forgetful of things like this.

Entirely silent, he eased over to sit on the lip of the table, eyes on the boy's profile as he frantically read through the last few pages of Hamlet.

He felt the man's presence before looking up. Peter had always been oddly sensitive to the proximity of other people, more for defensive reasons he suspected, than anything else- but with certain people at the school...it had changed. Tink was the first exception, as she was the first one to really get close to him, and perhaps she was to blame for how easily he'd fallen into it. Smee came next, something protective that flared up and never quite died away. And then, for some unknown reason, this one Professor in particular. And like everything else that bothered Peter to know end- he avoided thinking about it.

Still, pages flipped idlly by, mouth moving to speak only when he'd reached the last page, eyes scanning over the words. "I don't like being watched."

"I know," James replied simply, but there was nothing biting about the way he said it. It was an acknowledgement-- but what he also knew was how Peter reacted to people staring at him. And he knew that the boy did not react to his blue gaze the way he did to everyone else (save Tink, and Smee). If nothing else, James was observant. He tilted his chin towards the book.

"Tell me about it, then," He ordered gently, fingers flattening against the library book perched in his lap. He couldn' quite explain his need to keep this boy close, to keep him at the school. At first he had thought it to be paternal affection, something he had for all his students (once again save that particular trio). But the more he thought of it, the more Peter was around, the more James couldn't quite remember what it was like without him.

Shoulders softened once he finished, eyes lingering a moment longer than usual on the last line before his wrist stretched- book folding closed as his arm lifted, handing the slender volume back to it's rightful owner. More than anything, Peter really didn't want to have to turn and face him. It had been such an up and down day- between the theiving and the teasing and the good natured talk about ditching and then this sudden news that he was to be sent away, and....everything else. He didn't want pity, and he certainly didn't want to be considered...deficient by this man in particular.

Peter heaved a sigh, legs stretching out to dangle of the edge of the table as arms lifted, both palms pressing to his eyes in exhaustion. "I hate Hamlet. He's stupid and it's his fault he's unhappy and it's his fault his girlfriend went nuts and died."

"All right, now that you have that off your chest," James said almost conversationally, taking the smaller text and setting it on the table near his own back, "What is Hamlet really? Why are we drawn to him as a character instead of- say- Horatio?" The man tilted his head, braided curls falling to one side, watching the boy's profile like a hawk.

He did look exhausted though, and James wasn't surprised. This day had been total chaos from the moment he woke, after all.

More questions- and Peter had to do his best not to groan in protest. It was half of what was so frustrating really. Why study? Why work so hard and exhaust himself day after day when it would never amount to anything , never be good enough and in the end, Peter would still be a little orphan boy with no family and no future. Bollocks to all of it.

The boy flopped onto his back spreading out across the table to let a more than strained back have a chance to stretch out. "Beats me. I hated the guy. All he did was whine and complain. I bet Horatio has equally devastating things in his past that'll be just as good a story and we're just stuck listening to Hamlet's. They guy's barking mad." It was true too, and the boy finally uncovered his eyes only to glare wholeheartedly at the Professor who'd made him endure the damn thing to begin with....

"Who does that? Who has their dad die, their girlfriend go nuts and die, their mum blow them off and then decide 'oh hey. guess I'll just give up and die now. thanks.' Complete. Waste. of Time."

Obviously they were going to get no where with this approach. James tilted his head, lifted his chin just the slightest bit, looking down his nose at the boy a moment. The only way to go about this, was to distract him in an offhanded way. It was the only way to make him learn-- to turn it into a game, of sorts, make it seem less like studying completely.

Now Peter had been wary from the get go, comfortable or not. Professor Jas had always had this irritating way to stealing victories right out from under him. Every fight that would start and the boy looked like the clear victor, somehow wound up turned around and Peter would find that someway, somehow, the sneaky bastard had managed to get him to back himself into a corner. Which left them here, with his insistance on wanting to help, Peter's overwhelming skepticism, and the world's most vexing book- and the unorthodox approach was undeniable proof that there was something up his sleeve. The glare softened, one brow arching as hands shifted, once lying flat on the table beside him and now crossed over his chest defensively. "Why-?"

James arched an eyebrow, just slightly, at the gesture. It wasn't an uncommon one, and perhaps a little fitting. For all intents and purposes, James wasn't actually planning anything at all. He honestly did want the boy to pass, to come back to the school, partly because he knew Peter had the potential for something great-- and partly for his own selfish reasons. Reasons that were, quite frankly, not ones that most of the school, and probably world population would find tasteful.

"Studying," He began, "Is about rewards. For most, it is the reward of knowledge, or perhaps passing a test, getting the highest grade. But sometimes it is for one's own reasons. Why do you study fencing? Not for such superficial reasons as that." The professor shifted a little, and gestured with one hand for Peter to sit up. "You are studying this book for a reward, too, albeit a more long term one than those I just mentioned. The reward of not returning to the place from wence you came."

He rolled up lazily, body curling in on itself until Peter was sitting once more."The reward-" he began patiently, hovering over each of the words with disdain. "...is knowledge." Peter actually chuckled at that, and the comment that followed...
St Norberts had always been and would always be a touchy subject for him. A past he rarely, if ever, spoke of- and while more often than not, hearing another mention it would spark a surge of painful memories that lead to withdrawal and sadness and silence but now... Green eyes flashed with anger. "Not returning. You think I'll ever get away? You think that anything I do will ever get rid of it completely? What do you know?!" He shouted, all but storming away from the table and subsequently, the man seated atop it. "You don't know a damn thing so just leave me be!"

ames braced both hands on the table top next to his legs, watching the boy storm away. He recognized that response-- how many times had he felt it himself?

"Actually, I know a lot more then you give me credit for," He replied calmly, softly-- and chose not to elaborate. Gods knew he could never fully be rid of his own past, dodgy lineage and mistakes and schooling... all kinds of mishaps that most people would be scandalized to find out about the good professor. But he also knew that, while old scars remained (in more than one way), they were just that: scars. Old reminders, but things that did not affect daily routine.

The moment's time to vent helped ease his nerves, setting his blood to a low boiling instead of outright fury. It stung like betrayal, to have his past dragged up, constantly, by this one man- and Peter hated it. Still, he didn't have the energy to force of will to argue the point. Neither of them were going to change the other's point of view and it wasn't worth all the chaos it'd create to force the issue. The past was meant to stay buried, and if his Professor was so intent on digging it up, Peter was going to do everything in his power to shut him out.

Arms folded over his chest once more and the boy kept his distance, green eyes meeting blue and glinting dangerously. An unspoken warning. "You aren't helping."

The man was many things, but he wasn't a fool-- and definitely was not privy to an argument over their respective histories. After all, he wasn't too keen on releasing that information himself-- and while he knew, generally, what could have happened at the orphanage... Wel. Some things were just better off left to lie until the proper time. Which definitely was not now.

"Anyway. You are wrong, not all reward is knowledge," Continued as though he had not missed a beat, and the blue of his eyes softened a little. So much tension in the lad (for good reason), and he could still see that headache in the corners of green eyes. "Come here."

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Little by little the fight eased out of him, and his chin lifted in half defiance half curiousity before a brow arched. That little dance had ended on a slightly different note, and Peter looked almost wary in response. He didn't like having so many loose ends, and the stirring in his stomach did little to ease his mind. Arms uncrossed slowly, hands falling to rest on his waist as he considered the comment, almost waiting for a sigh, some signal the he was walking into a cleverly disguished trap because no one had ever been willing to put up with the thousand and one torments he'd put this man through. The tests.

And as always, curiousity got the better of him- and Peter stepped forward. "Why?"

No such sigh came, no twitch, no telling signal that James was planning anything harmful-- and while he could easily do this while planning something devious, such was not the case this time. Not to mention Peter seemed to be able to tell nearly every time anyway, but that was besides the point. Instead, both eyebrows lifted, a tell tale 'hurry up' gesture that all teachers seemed to have.

"Just do it. Or don't you trust me?" And there he smiled, just slightly, a genuine sideways tilt of his mouth.

The single step was followed by another, "Know many, trust few." Peter recited simply, coming to reat, albeit obediantly, mere inches infront of the man- chin lifting arrogantly. When had anything between them been anything other than a test? Testing boundaries, will, feeling- to spot shortcomings and find an equal and opposite re-action. Brows lifted in return as the boy mimicked the action. Shy of this being another battle of sorts between them, Peter failed to see the point, still, only time would tell- and hands rested impatiently on his waist once more. "Well?"

James watched him a moment, pale blue meeting striking green, then turned his face away a moment to see where to set down the massive volume he had plucked from the shelf. As he looked up again, one hand lifted to brush a stray lock of black from his own face, before both lifted from his lap to cradle Peter's head. He did it slowly, so the boy would know what was happening, but once there, he carefully and gently worked both thumbs into his temples-- the problem spot of the headache.

This, actually, was not the first time he had made such a gesture. It had been repeated once before, a while back, the night he had caught Peter awake with a massive migraine and shadows of a nightmare chasing him down the hall.

Those same eyes widened a fraction, almost as caught off guard by the action as he'd been the first time, gentle fingers pressed against his skin and the boy was disarmed entirely. To be cared for, oh to be cared for, was something Peter thought he would never be used to. Still- after the first few seconds ticked by, shoulders eased and hands let loose their defensive grasp, one falling to hang idlly at his side and the other...
Eyes slid closed to savor the sensation and rough, calloused fingers reached up, instictively seeking the smooth surface of Jas' own, brushing across the edge of a hand that seemed so intent of urging weariness away.

An easy blink and James didn't waver from his task. On the contrary, his fingers curled a little behind Peter's ears, thumbs pressing circles into his skin to smooth the ache away. And it was a soft time like this that James felt a swell of affection in his chest that, he knew, was far more friendly then the usual student-teacher relationship. But he carefully folded it upand kept it close to his heart and said nothing, instead putting all of his focus on this one flaxen-haired boy.

There were times that Peter couldn't help but wonder if the man had any idea what he was doing. Sure, the occasional moment that passed between them was questionable- but neither of them ever said anything of it. This carefully tucked away thing, and Peter hated, hated having to be so cautious. Not here, not with warm and gentle fingertips pressed to his skin-

Eyes stayed closed, head tilting forward a fraction to ease into the touch as he spoke, words soft and light. "Lets play a game."

"We're supposed to be studying, not playing games," James scolded. But his voice was pitched quiet, and the usual dominating command of his voice was gentled by this quiet moment. It held none of the vehemence it normally did when Jas was running his class. Quite frankly, he sounded more curious than anything else. After all, a game had been exactly what James had been thinking of to help with Peter's studying. But he was more then happy to hear the boy's ideas.

And still his hands would not leave that spot on Peter's skull.

The chuckle was gentle, almost teasing but lacking the force of energy. It was hard, after all, to be energetic with that rhythmic, gentle pressure-

"That's why it's a game. You can ask me questions about Hamlet, about anything we've learned, and I'll answer you. If I answer right, then I get to give you a truth or a dare. If I get it wrong, then it's the opposite." Even with closed eyes, an impish, confidant grin lingered on his mouth. "Sounds fair doesn't it? So are you in?"

James lips tightened into a firm line as the rules were laid out. They sounded fair enough, but James wasn't stupid. He knew how Peter's mind worked, and he had a feeling that if he agreed to this-- it might not end the way he expected at all. It wasn't that James was a huge liar, either-- it was simply that he could be a very private person. And, knowing Peter-- the boy would probably get the best of him. After all, young at heart as he was, James was completely out of practice on the issure of games such as these.

"All right." He agreed warily.

He pulled away slowly at the agreement, lazily making his way out of Jas' tender grip to climb onto the tabletop beside him, sitting crosslegged and resting his chin in his hand. Mischievious smirk ever present, Peter managed to look nearly innocent- though the deception was hardly the point. Brows lifted once more, impatient and curious and more than ready to start this game. "Alright," he drawled, "ask me."

James leaned sideways, just a little bit away from Peter-- though only so he could rest his weight on the heel of his hand on top of the library's copy of Hamlet. Forget-me-nots half-lidded, serious and calm, with the barest hint of play in them, as he regarded the not-quite angelic look on Peter's face. Quite frankly, he hoped most of the truth or dare questions would be going to him.

"An easy enough question to start: What type of character is Hamlet?"

Well hell, he hadn't expected questions that easy, though Peter was hardly one to look a gifthorse in the mouth. "He's a tragic hero. Meant to be anyway, but I've already told you I disagree." The rest of the thought was waved off absently, a laugh hanging from his lips. "Careful Professor or it'll seem like you're trying to lose. Alright, my win so~ I want a truth..."

Peter paused, thoughful for a moment before he continued. "In class, when you're daydreaming, what do you think about?"

"Mm, but your opinion doesn't matter," James agreed easily enough before blinking at the question. It was something of a loaded question-- and perhaps a little too broad. There were a million and one things James thought of when his focus wandered in class. He cracked a half of a smile. "Anything and everything. School work, home work, errands that need to be run... Distant tropical lsands. " He paused a moment, and his smile took on a mischevious tilt. "The same thing every other man thinks of every six seconds."

Which was enough of an answer, for now, in his expert opinion.

"Hmm. The list of main characters, and their association with Hamlet." Jas said-- and still his eyes had yet to change focus.

Jas, Peter concluded, was bad at the subtlety thing. Or just annoyingly good at honesty. Either or, one comment in partcicular had captured his interest; spurning him onward with a smirk, feasting on the challenge. "The ghost was his father, Gertude his mother, Claudius his uncle, Ophelia his girlfriend, Polonius Ophelia's dad, L....Laertes! Laertes is Ophelia's brother, and Horatio was Hamlet's best friend- and those're the main ones so...my turn again?"

The innocent grin became a wolfish smirk, complete with a wink. "Elaborate on those every-six-seconds thoughts"

James inclined his head a little, leaning further onto his arm, regarding Peter with curious amusement. Anyone else might be alarmed by such a personal question, but it didn't phase the professor at all. However, he didn't think that this particular question was asked out of any sort of innocence, and as such one eyebrow rose. If this was how he wanted to play, and if he continued getting questions correct...

"Smooth, tanned skin, wet with sweat and flushed with passion. A pretty little gasping mouth, a body lifting, aching for release." And all of this was said in a voice pitched low, as though someone were listening in on their conversation.

He blinked, then said: "The purpose of Shakespeare's soliloquy."

Mischief seemed to still at that- and the witty retort that seemed entirely ready and waiting to leap from his mouth died just there, eyes widening a fraction, the smallest of gestures but still enough, and Peter had no response to that. Instead, he was preoccupied with the sudden sinking in his stomach, the jolt of heat that made his skin prickle and he blinked, mouth falling open but not a sound escaped.

Made all the worse by the fact that he knew, he knew and now all he could think of was gasping mouths and sweatslicked skin- "I- don't know."

James noticed it all, and though they weren't touching, or close enough to actually tell properly, he was sure he could feel the increased heartrate of the boy, too. And, usually, he could resist temptation. The unspoken truce between them that was never mentioned. But this was the first time Peter had turned dilated, emerald eyes on him-- and, well, James was far from a saint.

"Dare," He said and then shifted back on the table, more into the centre, both knees hinged and spread apart- just enough room for a body between his thighs. There, the eyebrow again, and he patted the table top with his hand. "Sit here, face away."

His heart was beating impossibly hard, like the fluttering of wings and his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip- a thoughtless gesture before the directions registered. Wary again, but overrode by the passion of competition and the burn of curiosity and that heat in his stomach that he couldn't explain. "Alright fine" Peter countered cockily, shifting in one fluid motion to land between the man's thighs, close, so painfully close but not quite touching. Then the most painful of all- to turn his back on Jas. To trust the man behind him while he was unable to see a thing- it was sheer force of will that supressed the shiver and Peter forced his back to straighten, shoulders squared and face looking forward. "There."

James watched him quietly as he moved across the table and took the empty space between his thighs. A small smile graced the man's lips as he saw the tension keeping the boy's spine ramrod straight, but he knew it was an issue of trust and not his descriptive images.

Nevertheless, he leaned in just a little, elbows shifting forward to rest on thighs, wrists hanging limp over his knees. Never once did he touch the boy, but with the sprawl of his arms, the slight dip of his head just beyond his shoulder, James effectively created a semi-circle-shape of keeping the boy possessively close. Inclining his head slightly, he exhaled slowly against the back of Peter's neck before speaking, his voice deep and intimate and angled directly into Peter's ear, so close his breath washed passed ear and cheek alike: "Same question," He drawled.

If it was possible for him to stiffen further, he did. Something deeply ingrained, to never keep your back to a potential enemy- which, to the average person sounded completely insane because truly- what on earth did the word 'enemy' mean this day in age? A detail Peter would never openly elaborate on, but something still very much a part of him. No one could really, really be trusted when it came down to it- save Tink; and Peter would never be able to understand why she'd chosen to suffer through the burdden of his wariness for so long.

Still, though Jas was special in ways the boy couldn't entirely fathom, trust was still very much in question. Especially now, with his back to this man- all but buried in an embrace that left him vulnerable and ill at ease, with breath ghosting over his ear. It made his skin prickle, and he had to swallow the lump in his throat before he was able to answer. Distraction and vulnerability aside, he'd be damned if he lost at his own game. Eyes squeezed shut and his jaw clenched- an attempt to shut all else out, to focus. How many more people; he wondered; would he have to prove wrong? How many times would he have to exhaust himself to prove his ability, his merit, his worth.

A near growl, swallowed up before eyes snapped open and Peter replied, voice clipped and confident. "He's debating suicide. To be or not to be is 'to exist, or not to exist'. Because he's a coward and doesn't want to live, but then he argues that men are afraid of what exists after death, and ends up not killing himself because, well, better the devil you know. And all that." He finished with a wave of his hand, dismissing it. "My turn," Peter all but purred, and the devious edge was unmistakable. If the man was so bent on making him miserable, well, he'd best be able to take it in kind. Green eyes glinted as he looked over his shoulder, daring him. "Keep your hands on the table Professor-" He drawled sweetly, body turning to half-crawl half-crouch in Jas' lap, mouth hovering precariously close to the man's own as hands lifted- coming to settle on his chest.

Innocent enough, until fingers moved to the button of his shirt, bypassing the tie entirely, unfastening the buttons with deliberate slowness- all the way down until at last...
Peter smirked, palms flattening against the bare skin of his chest before pushing the fabric aside, sliding it down and off of long arms with care all the while, petal soft lips hung mere centimeters from touching- and then he moved, sitting back to admire his handiwork, fingers a ghost of a touch arcoss his skin, tracing, memorizing- wandering down the smooth plane of his stomach, lingering on hips bones, a tease above the line of his pants before withdrawing entirely. And the innocent smile was back, whirling to sit submissively in his lap once more. "There. Next question."

To say he was surprised when Peter turned around with that not-quite innocent look on his face- would be a total lie. It was Peter, after all: the boy always had something up his sleeve, always had some kind of mischevious plan. Between him and his friend, Tink, Jas constantly had his hands full. But what he hadn't expected was the teen's forwardness, to actually undo each of the buttons on his crimson shirt, and then remove it with a slow push of calloused hands over his skin.

But he didn't seem to react, not really, not at first. Forget-me-not eyes remained calmly fixed to bright green, and though he was nearly impassive, his eyes did darken just slightly, and his hands curled into fists on the table top. And though temptation was just a breath away, the only thought in his head was thank god the boy didn't reach around to his back, and was seated in front of him, and that he had taken the time that morning to wind a bandage around his left forearm.

There were some secrets James simply was not ready to share. Things people wouldn't understand, didn't need to know.

When fingers stopped delicately tracing the contours of his chest, and the boy twisted around to sit again, only then did James close his eyes and exhale slowly, entire body tensing as he fought the need to push Peter over and relieve all the sexual tension suddenly in the air. Tightness remaining in his shoulders, he opened his eyes again, and leaned forward-- but still didn't touch. "Who," He drawled, and his voice was deeper, more charged, on the edge of a lustful murmur, "Did Shakespeare include in this play as foils to Hamlet?"

This time, the voice didn't phase him- partially the boy was still elated over the sudden rush of victory, the way blue eyes darkened and his tone changed. Peter was all but purring in delight.Oh he was young yes, but far from naive, and while he'd more than achieved his desired result, catching sight of the bandages on his Professor's arm had more than piqued his interest. Chin rested on his palm, posture relaxing to leave the boy sitting crosslegged and smirking. "Foil? Ophelia. Well, foil-slash-love interest."

"Wrong," James all but purred, though he managed to do it without sounding arrogantly satisfied what-so-ever. Instead there was a soft scolding in his voice- one laced with promise, "It is Horatio, Fortinbras, Claudius and Laertes."

And since, that meant, it was his turn, he took advantage of it. He could see where Peter was going with this. The boy was far more keen then James gave him credit for, sometimes. After all: nobody at the school could have guessed who, exactly, those daydreams in class were about. But there was one thing James was very curious about. Something he hadn't dared say allowed, or even wrote down in his journal. He had been treading dangerous ground even thinking of it. But, if Peter was going to be so forward as to undress him, then perhaps they weren't thinking so differently as he had once thought.

"Are you a virgin?" He murmured, heated, into Peter's ear, left hand lifting off the table, flattening to the boy's back and slowly smoothing a stripe of warmth up his spine.

Eyes fell closed at the contact, arrogant, triumphant cockiness gone in a breath at the question. Oh that question, one of those dodgy little subjects he'd been trying so desperately to avoid, coupled with the gentlest of touches. But he'd hadn't expected it. Hadn't anticipated the man to be so forward as to ask, hadn't anticipated answering incorrectly. Peter held perfectly still, body as relaxed as it had been only moments before- though the light seemed to blow right out of him. "No-" He answered, voice soft, nigh inaudible before he straightened slowly.
It wasn't a question he wanted to answer. Wasn't something he wanted Jas, and Jas especially to ever know- but this was his game. He'd made the rules, and he wasn't coward enough to run now that it had gotten difficult.

Though his voice sounded forced, a laugh all but shoved into it- the words lacked luster, bitter and hollow. "An orphanage remember? No one cares what happens to us in there." Peter couldn't bring himself to turn and look and instead- did the only thing he could think to do, "Next question?"

A bolt of anger scored the man down his gut, hard and vicious enough to briefly light his eyes a vicious shade of red before he was able to pull it back under control. He should have known, really. And in a way, he had- but the confirmation made it so much worse. Where his hand had paused at the Peter's neck at the answer, it moved as he went on. Long fingers lengthened up into the golden curls of his hair, flexed against his skull gently. It could explain a lot. James, after all, knew what that kind of... affection was like.

And though he knew he didn't have the right, he wanted to be able to show the boy that it wasn't always like that. His right hand came around, smoothed across his ribs and stopped, flat and wide, on his belly. There was nothing rough about any of his touches. They were all as soothing and slow as the massage to the boy's temples.

"What is Hamlet's tragic flaw?" He asked, and though his tone was still laced with heat, it wasn't as heavy as it had been before.

There was safety in continuing, in carrying on, and Peter heaved a sigh, letting himself fall back into their easy pitter patter, dancing around the subject. "Hamlet's tragic flaw-" He echoed, unphased and unresponsive to the touch, the continued tenderness. "Hamlet doesn't know when to act. He spends all his time thinking and talking in circles and not actually doing anything. So his inaction is his undoing." The irony of the question, was not lost on him. Peter kept his back to the man, reaching out to wrap fingers around a slender wrist pulling the man's arm forward and into his lap. A soft sound, a nigh hum in his throat in curiosity and fingers made short work of the bandage, unravelling it without so much as a word until the cloth was disposed of entirely and a green eyes turned to seek out his prize-

And Peter froze, body stiffening in an instant, whirling around to face the professor, anger, and fear, and disbelief twisting his features, voice suddenly firm and demanding, cracking at the swell of emotion behind it. No. No no no no no. It wasn't possible, no one was supposed to- "How do you know about Neverland-?!"

James had been on the edge of pulling away, he had been so close to ripping his arm away and pushing the boy from his lap and putting that space between them once more. But he didn't. And he wasn't sure why. Had it been anyone else trying to unravell that protective shield against the world, they would have been sporting a black eye- student or not. Instead, his right hand curled into a first on Peter's stomach, waiting, knowing he would have some kind of reaction-

And he was startled by the response, nearly knocked off-kilter by how quickly Peter turned around. Surprise, at first, all over his face-- and then, slowly, confusion. A hint of amazement. "The same way you do," He answered quietly, and surprised himself with his honesty. There was only one way Peter could know about it, after all. But still, Neverland was his safe place. His tropical island. A place he wanted to go and was unsure he would ever find, a secret place--

And this boy knew about it. Which was... not as strange as it should have been.

Peter had tolerated a great many things, a huge huge number of things that should never be ordinary and despite everything, he thought he'd been a rather good sport about it all right up until this. Until this moment- and with the tidal wave rushing inside him...green eyes flickered. Trying to comprehend, to understand, to make sense of why it fit together so well and just as suddenly, the answer came. Because they fit together. And as brilliant as they both were, Peter had to wonder at how neither of them had noticed. Fingertips lingered over the scar, delicate and tender as his other hand reached to wrap around Jas' tie, pulling him close, enough to share breath before murmuring softly. "That was a bad answer, and demands a penalty. Kiss me."

This time his left hand curled into a fist, and he froze for only a fraction of a second as Peter pulled him in by the silk tie still around his throat. Blue locking firmly to green, the that second taken to turn the demand over. Only once. Only once because that was all it needed. This explained the rough desire to keep the boy close, to stop him going back to the orphanage, to help him, protect him-- Treat him like a prince.

His free hand came up, formed to the base of his skull, fingers in flaxen hair, and he guided the boy close with a cant of his head. A nuzzle to his face, briefly, lips brushing across his cheek before pressing firmly to the boy's mouth.

Eyes fell closed the moment fingers curled into his hair, body crumpling instictively. Never before had he let go like this, never before had he let the tension ease away and unwound so freely. And then they'd come full circle, mouth pressed together and Peter felt the weight of the world slow, and fall around them. Fingers left their place on a silked tie to lose themselves in similarly soft black hair- sighing into the kiss. Hadn't everything just been waiting for this moment-? Just as taste- and slowly, slowly, green eyes hazy and half dazed, half closed, before he whispered to continue- still lingering so close, afraid to drift too far, afraid to be out of reach. "...next question-"

James didn't bother opening his eyes, feeling the question spoken against his mouth. The words were barely from out before Jas was pressing in again, left hand turning over, pulling from Peter's grip-- only to lace fingers together and squeeze gently. He nuzzled again, lips to lips, then kissed the corner of his mouth.

"Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar," He murmured to sun-darkened skin, and another kiss bestowed upon his chin. "Who says it?" The last word stumbled over as his mouth became preoccupied, tracing a the curve of his jaw.

he softest of sighs, reply the hint of a whisper- gentle and preoccupied, disinterested in tearing his focus from a warm mouth and warmer hands to rifle through mind for the trivial details. What did it matter- the answer, when such wonderful distractions hovered so close. "I don't know" He murmured, all previous impatience and annoyance washed away- head tilting to offer his lips to the man once more. Another kiss, tongue lapping at his bottom lip- tasting and savoring, hand falling to smooth down his neck, trace his collar bone, trail over his shoulder; smooth and gentle and exploritory- charting territory.

James froze when that hand slid over his shoulders, inches from the flawed skin of his back. His grip on the boy's hand tightening fractionally, to get his attention again, a vain attempt to keep his touch from lingering too much on his back. He craned, just a little bit, keeping the kiss away, sharing breath. "Polonius," He whispered, and then, right hand smoothing down the arch of his back, over clothing: "Take off your shirt."

His back arched reflexively, seeking out that touch and nearly groaning at the demand. Fingers went wordlessly, obediently to the buttons of his own shirt, pulling at them impatiently and shrugging the shirt down his shoulders- a crumpled heap on the table and hands immediately sought out his jaw, an attempt to regain that contact after having to pull away. "Polonius-" Peter echoed once more, intoxicated and starry-eyed as lips ghosted over his mouth. Warm and familiar and safe and his- fingers moved again, restless and roving, featherlight over his neck, winding their way down his chest, lingering over ribs, the curve of his hip- and the boy leaned close, capturing the man's mouth in a heated kiss as hands flattened to smooth over his back, to pull him closer and--

paused, at the sudden change. The way smooth skin was suddenly marred by dozens of long lines, scars, and Peter blinked, fog clearing as he pulled back; head canted and brows furrowed in unmasked curiousity. Another unspoken question, and Peter waited for the answer.

James didn't look at him when he felt the change, the curious twinge that had Peter straightening to look at him quizzically. Instead, he sighed, slowly, carefully, and tipped his chin down just slightly from the lingered pose of a kiss. It was no lie: is back was a cross-hatched with layers of scars, some near faded from age, but others more fresh, thicker, twisted. Punishment, abuse. The hesitation was a long one, but eventually his eyes did open, and they lifted, looking to green through dark eyelashes.

"Not now," He said softly, and though it wasn't overtly obvious, there was a hint of pleading, and his hands, where they had fallen on the curve of Peter's waist, tightened just a little. Another time, I promise.

There were times that Peter embodied everything that had always been murmered of him. Of always being a child, and being impertinent and stubborn and foolish and annoying and brash- but there was also this; the sort of quiet eyed acceptance that people lost as they aged. To become changed by the world around them, to see ugliness as nothing more than ugliness; and Peter himself would never be able to become such a thing. Would never be able to understand it. The hint of a smile, accepting the subtle plea though not really ever expecting a satisfactory story behind them. Instead the boy sighed, soft and wistful, mouth hovering between tenderness and empathy and understanding and outright praise, awe, admiration. "You're so beautiful" He said simply, nuzzling Jas' jaw and burrowing closer to him, arms winding around his scarred back with unabashed acceptance.

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That- surprised him. Deeply, and he hesitated a moment as the boy burrowed up against his face, into his body. But instead of protesting, he simply closed his eyes, and wrapped the boy up into his chest, arms locked around his ribs. Beautiful was not a word he would apply to himself- but coming from this wild child- he could almost believe it.

A few moments later, though, he shifted, mouth tracing against his jaw to speak against his ear. "We are to be studying, you know." He murmured, squeezing Peter gently.

Embraces of any kind were difficult to get used to, especially for him- though as time progressed it was becoming easier. If he started it, and if he was let go when he pulled away, then it was fine and tolerable and something that he could get used to. So when the arms around him tighted a fraction, his body stiffened reflexively- enough to be noticeable, but just as quickly, Peter deflated, willing himself to calm down. That this was not dangerous and was instead, something familiar and secure.

"Studying," the word was light on his tongue, drawn out with a mischievious smirk. Narrow chin rested on the man's bare shoulder with a sing-song laugh. "Then you are a bad tutor. Next question professor~?"

James exhaled, slowly, through his nose into the boy's golden hair; a low hum. His grip loosened just slightly as he felt Peter stiffen, but as if to soothe the brief discomfort, one warm palm smoothed down the length of his spine.

"Though this be madness, there is method in't," He whispered against Peter's ear, tracing idle designs on the small of his back as he did. "...Who said it?"

That line- green eyes slid shut, searching his memory and the answer came to mind so easily. Polonius- a character the man seemed particularly fond and Peter opened his mouth, ready to triumphantly declare the answer before pausing suddenly, and brows drew together for a fraction of a second before he at last whispered against the shell of his ear.

"I don't know."

"Try harder," He ordered, a low murmur, and though he demanded an answer- his hands were wandering. Walking over the smooth length of Peter's back, the knobs of his spine, the curve of his ribs. All such temptation-- all things he could lose faster than he blinked if he didn't properly help the wild boy. This was important, more important than physical desire.

Though it didn't stop him nuzzling against Peter's throat, fingers curving to his shoulderblades to keep him close, keep him steady.

He nearly chuckled at the comment, smiling slowly and relaxing in familiar hands, familiar touches. Soft and featherlight- hands lifted to run through his hair, an idle gesture and Peter answered with a sigh; like a child forced to admit to a lie. Not entirely inaccurate. "Polonius."

A slow smile and Peter didn't know how to explain the way his chest stirred. "Dare- Kiss me."

"Good boy," He murmured, low praise at answering. It was curious, actually, how much Peter happened to know. And a little disappointing-- knowing he had all of this intelligence, this knowledge, and refused to use it. It was almost blasphemous- and damned if he wouldn't be pestering Peter perhaps even more after this.

But, true to form, he followed the dare. One hand slid up Peter's back, over his neck, curling to the back of his head. Striking blue eyes half-lidded, he nuzzled Peter's face, then slowly, pliantly, pressed his lips to the boy's again.

And god, if he wasn't gorgeous. Smelled of spring and sunrise, and James made a soft noise in the back of his throat, tongue sliding over his bottom lip, asking entrance.

Oh and coupled with praise? Entirely perfect. He'd always been fond of affection, an ego stroke- wonderful- and a coy, lazy smile spread across his mouth. Not that he really had any doubts about his own capabilities, but proving them...well, was simply less fun than pursuing other things. Like playing with Tink, going on adventures, exploring- to live while they still could.

Like this-
and his chin lifted to meet the kiss, petal soft lips pressing to a warm mouth, nearly sighing at the contact. To feel so entirely natural, as though this were the one place in all the world where he finally belonged- which was terrifying and also...a relief. Not nearly electric or violent or some collision of foes battling for control and instead... soft. The wet slide against his bottom lip earned a gentle sigh and he allowed the man entrance- dizzy and warm.

An angle of his head and James nuzzled against Peter's face, jaw relaxing as his grip flexed, almost lifting the boy into the kiss, against his body. Forget-me-nots closed, a soft hum lilting from his throat, and taking advantage of the granted access, his tongue slid inside slow and warm. An easy kiss- but full, consuming, and almost as though he were worshipping the boy just through that one connection.

It lingered, a slow work of jaw and tongue, idly exploring, learning his taste. But finally, one arm curling around his ribs, and James sighed and pulled away- just far enough to speak, breathing his breath, against the corner of kiss-swollen lips. "There is nothing either good or bad; but thinking makes it so."

There was something so striking about they way they fit together. Not simply as two people, but as pieces of the same definite whole. A counter balance, physics and Newton's law about every action having an equal and opposite reaction-

And then a sigh and the contact was broken. It felt like sunlight- slow, lazy warmth that made everything hazy around the edges and all the pieces lined up right. Another line yes, of course- "To me it is a prison." Peter finished, whispered breath ghosting over the man's mouth. "Hamlet- dare. Kiss me again."

James nearly growled when Peter quoted back to him, surprised by the bolt of arousal that lanced down his spine as the boy's tongue curled around Shakespearean words. Blue eyes flicked briefly, sharp and intense, to Peter's face before he moved again. A cant of his head and he caught the boy in an open-mouthed kiss, tongue sliding between lips into that warm mouth- more confidant now.

His free palm- the one not tangled in flaxen hair- flattened against the small of Peter's back, and slowly, slowly smoothed up his spine, curving to the back of his neck before retracing the path back down- and further. His hand curled just beneath the waist of his pants and pressed, pulling the boy snug against his body, mouth opening against Peter's lips to release an exhale of pleasure.

It was more than a shared kiss- it was a coupling. Two things that were meant to fit together and only just now, after all this time, realized it. Peter swallowed the moan that rose up in his throat- body arching instinctively; back curving as he pressed into the embrace and god- they really did fit.

Hands fell to rest on the man's back, fingers tangled in the fabric of his shit as Peter gave himself up, getting lost in the warmth of lips and the press of skin- intoxicated. "Professor-" he breathed, and lashes fluttered against his cheeks when he pulled away at last, sucking in a breath.

The shirt was barely clinging to his shoulders as it was, since Peter had taken it upon himself to unbutton the entire thing previously, so when those work-worn fingers tightened in the fabric- it did little but pull the soft shirt down, slithering over broad shoulders to pool in the crook of his elbow. And then his title breathed, and James was unsure if Peter realized exactly how sensual it sounded.

Or how incredibly arousing. If Peter had not been able to feel moments before exactly how stimulating this whole exchange was- he definitely would now. James swallowed thickly, and paused only long enough for the boy to snatch a breath before gripping him possessively and snatching his mouth in another heated kiss- addicted.

They'd lost track of the game- the competition- lines were blurring between heated kisses and the way his skin prickled at the faintest of touches. Too much, too much and when his hips shifted forward he could feel it- the press against his leg, and liquid heat coursed through him, a moan tearing from his lips as he jerked forward to crush their lips together with bruising force.

Every place their skin met forced a shiver up his spine- hyperaware of electric touches and the hot wet slide of tongues; demanding, possessing- and Peter pushed further, enough to topple the man over and leave him sprawled across the table, the boy himself still straddling slender hips, back curved as he leaned down to follow the kiss.

Fighting the vertigo from a sudden change of direction, James found he could hardly be surprised by Peter's aggressiveness. The boy was strong headed, powerful and untameable as the wind- but even so, he landed just that little bit too hard against the table, and it forced the air from his lungs with a little huff.

But he recovered quickly enough, hands that had been forced to move with the change returning once again to that slender body. One hand curving to his skull, jaw relaxing and opening into the kiss that Peter leaned for. The other smoothed up the outside of his thigh, over his hip, up his side to stroke across a smooth back- stopping just between his shoulder blades. And there, greedy, he pulled- wanting skin to skin. Wanting Peter.

The sudden change of direction was a more than welcome change- to finally have leverage- because really, no matter how much youthful fire he had on his side, Jas had always been the stronger of the two, and his height alone was more than enough edge. The feel of fingers in his hair earned an appreciative sigh, hips rolling instinctively forward as his tongue swept over Jas' own-

And then the press- the sudden demanding pull that urged him down and pressed skin to skin-
Peter smirked, remarking at last with a teasing, reprimanding chuckle- "You forget yourself Professor-"

His smile was slow and sensual- and they were so close that Peter could feel it against his bottom lip. James lifted his chin a little and hummed, long and low. Forget himself-? Well, he certainly hoped so. He couldn't think of a better place to get lost.

Sighing, he allowed a brief break. After all- he knew better than anyone that studying straight through did little. Instead, he turned his focus to leaving a trail of slow, open-mouth kisses across Peter's jaw, down his neck, across his throat and to his collar. Hands smoothed down to his hips, gripping there and pulling, shifting just so that delightful friction gave just a tease of what could possibly come.

Peter did indeed feel the smile against him mouth- and it earned nothing less than an appreciative chuckle in response. It never ceased to amase him, the way this man, this Professor, when finally at ease; was really so much a boy himself. It could very well be what had formed the whole attachment to begin with. When the boy had first started school, though he'd breathed not a word, Professor Jas had become an easy favorite. A private sort of admiration, something he was unable to tell even Tink about- though as quick as she was, Peter had no doubts she was already well aware.

Then there were hands on his hips; lazy touches that were becoming more and more welcome, comfortable, and Peter had to wonder at how perfectly natural it felt. Chin tilted forward and Peter bit his lip at the sudden friction, the press that nearly pulled a moan from his throat. "You-" he began, voice low and thick, but purred and playful nontheless "Well- I think those 'every-six-seconds' thoughts are more clear now-"

"You're a smart boy," James responded, half praise, half almost-accusation for keeping it hidden for so long. But it was all a whisper against his mouth as body shifted, hands pulling slender hips as pelvis pushed, friction against him again. It stole his breath- James could feel how hard the boy was, and bloody hell- if he had less restraint, he would probably rut against the boy right there and ease the liquid hot need. Half-lidded eyes remained fixated on Peter's face, watching his mouth, his reaction to everything.

James wanted to know it all.

"I know," Peter shot back, smirking and bright eyed- lips brushing as he spoke. In a strange way, it was almost a competition, a dare to rise to the challenge and the boy would be damned if he wasn't hungry for the match. The only one to ever push him hard enough- the only one as passionately willful and all he could remember of their meeting was a series of arguements- tempers flaring in the hall and demands not to disrupt the class, to behave and pay attention and that it wouldn't be tolerated and the way his expression had darkened in response and shouted back 'I'll break before I'll bend-'

And it seemed so long ago- and yet not far at all and then- god- "Ngh-" That sudden rush of heat singing through him and his eyes squeezed shut, fingers clenched tight as his hips rolled forward. Breath caught on bruised lips, cheeks stained a dusty pink and just as suddenly- his eyes opened, dark green- and he pushed back, body arching against the hardness pressed against him- head falling back with a sigh.

The way he moved, that liquid roll and the sounds pulled from his throat- it made James' jaw relax, his lips fall apart in open awe. Amazing how they had come to this- this from first meetings and shouted matches in the hall. How stubborn he had been, and violent, and angry- like there was nothing but that callousness.

And then this. Playful smirks and warm skin and green eyes as dark as the blue of his own. James lifted his hips as Peter pressed back, a stuttered breath because they hit an angle that was no longer so simple as pelvis-to-pelvis. The look James gave the boy was deep and thick, filled with heat and desire- almost a silent inquiry as his hips shifted just a little, clothed arousal pressing firmly against Peter's arse.

That shift, the sudden press was different than it'd been a moment ago- and what had been a sigh of pleasure before turned into a slient gasp, mouth falling open as eyes squeezed shut, closed tight at lust burning in his stomach. God it would be a lie to say he didn't want it- didn't want this one man especially, looking up at him through dark lashes, eyes the brightest blue he'd ever seen.

And surely Jas had to have some dark secret- some mysterious allure that brought the boy back time and time again, and mental imagery offered up a moth to a flame.

His body curled forward, fingers tightening in strands of dark hair and Peter sealed their mouths together, tongue forcing it's way inside- hot and demanding- a wordless answer.

James sounded into his mouth, one hand flying from his hips as chin tilted, mouth opened and his tongue pushed back against Peter's. Yes- yes this is exactly the way it should be. Locked together and thick and warm. Hips shifted, back flexing and it was a good thing the table top was large , because James rolled them, caught Peter's head with a hand behind his head and breathed against his mouth.

A small grin and Jas was on the move, mouth sliding across his jaw, nipping down his neck and licking a heated stripe down the middle of his chest. All aimed to get between his legs and pull at belts and trousers. Said jeans were loosed, boxers and pants tightly wound in fists and at Peter's hips when- Jas realized-

He dropped his forehead to Peter's stomach and groaned- he had lotion in his pocket, simple stuff he used for his hands-
...but other than that? He had nothing.

He half moaned against Jas' mouth- body arching as they shifted before settling back to spread against the desk. Every touch left skin warm in it's wake, and a shiver wound it's way up the base of Peter's spine. Petal soft lips parted in a sigh as his head fell back- fingers loose and tangled in dark hair, wanting him closer, needing to be sure- that it was real.

The small of his back curved as wet mouth slid it's way down his chest- and somewhere between the myriad of gasps and sighs of pleasure, Peter whispered his name-- and marveled at the way it felt on his tongue. "Mnn-" And he could feel the weight of hands at his hips, all but sighing in relief before...
he...stopped. Green eyes fluttered open, curious as to what would cause this sudden pause, and every fiber of his being pleaded that it wasn't a change of heart-

Before that groan broke the tension, and Peter let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He rolled up slowly- curved to sit, to lean in to steal a kiss, feather-light and warm. So he was, worried-? It was strange, the way Jas tangled his insides. The smile that spread over his mouth was soft, and fingertips brushed over the curve of the man's cheek. "Use whatever you have- and just...go slow. We'll be alright."

James straightened with Peter as the boy curled, followed the lean until he was kneeled between the boy's thighs, fingers dusting his shoulders as the younger spoke to his mouth. Dark lashes fluttered, brief, to the dusted touch across his cheek- and it wasn't even just what Peter voiced. Blue lifted, looking at Peter directly. The fact of the matter wasn't about how to make this as easy as possible- the lotion, Jas knew, would be enough. That wasn't what he was concerned about.

"Peter-" His voice was pitched low, deep, a tone intensely intimate, "...I have no protection with me." No embarrassment, just a simple fact- and a question all at once. Because if they did this here, and now- it would be bareback. That didn't really bother James- at least not with this particular individual- but he knew it was a touchy subject with most. This decision was all Peter's, because while they were intimate right now-

...doing it this way took that intimacy to an entirely new level.

Green eyes darkened almost imperceptively at that. Their entire encounter so far had been nothing but twists and turns, one surprise after the other, so really, the comment should not have caught him as entirely off guard as it did. But then...it was something Peter was used to pointing out, and for whatever reason, here and now and tangled up in Jas, the thought hadn't even crossed his mind.

Peter's gaze cut to the bag he'd brought with him, long since forgotten. "I-" he began- then paused, brows furrowing. "I do...but" The words were slow, mind trying to wrap itself around a decision he knew he'd already made, and calloused fingertips slid along the man's jaw before he turned his face, meeting his professor's eyes evenly. "I don't want to use it. I want to feel you- and just you."

Not once did forget-me-nots cut from the boy's face, watching his profile even as Peter glanced away to his forgotten bag. Quiet, serious- and when he spoke... it was the professor's turn to react with dark eyes. An inaudible hitch in his lungs, nearly stealing his breath, and he froze as eyes locked, a rush of heat through his blood.

He wanted it, it would be a lie to say he didn't. And if nothing else he was amazed to Peter's consent- particularly when he had the item in question just a few feet away. Jas searched green eyes a moment, intense, needing to know if this was alright- that there would be no damage when all was said and done. Because there were the hurts both he and his student inflicted on each other- visible and not- and then there was... this. This was different. His voice was barely audible, heavy, when he murmured: "...Are you positive."

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