It takes Pan an hour to calm down and by then, he’s smashed most of the liquor. I get it, he’s pissed he lost his shadow—again—but does he have to waste precious amounts of rum while expressing his vexation?
I think not.
At least he didn’t have his throat slit by the dark shadow.
That thing was fucking brutal.
We might all be fucked if we cross paths with it. Perhaps it’s best to let that one lie. I think I might understand Vane’s piss-poor attitude a little more. Can’t imagine letting that sort of darkness live in my veins.
A shiver makes my shoulders bunch up just thinking about it and I take a long swig of a bottle of rum I managed to save from Pan’s brutal hand. The liquor helps drive some of the chill away. I feel like I had my soul torn out through my asshole. Everything hurts and my head is pounding. Is it safe for the Darling to come back out? I could use that sweet pussy wrapped around my dick.
Glass crunches beneath Vane’s boots as he fetches one of the remaining bottles of bourbon and then hands it to Pan. Pan takes it, chest heaving, sweat coating his forehead.
The Never King does not like to lose.
“Drink,” Vane orders. Pan drinks, strangling the neck of the bottle like he wants to wring the life from something else. I guess I don’t blame him. He lost his shadow, the Death Shadow is loose, and now Hook might get his hands on power he does not deserve.
I take another swig of my own bottle and feel my brother watching me.
What? I ask him.
How are you feeling?
I’m fine. Healed by a Darling. I’d say I’m better than ever.
Kas frowns at me.
Vane scowls at us. “Quit that shit. You two got something to say, you say it out loud.”
Kas’s frown deepens. Pan drops into one of the leather chairs, the bottle propped on the rise of his knee, his head lolled back.
“Now what?” I ask. Let us be done with this so I can get my Darling.
Pan’s eyes are closed. None of us speak.
The front door bangs open down below and a cacophony of sound rises up to the loft.
Some of the Lost Boys have returned from town with lost pussy in tow.
The girls’ giggles are not unlike the tinkling of fairy bells.
Pan’s eyes open.
Not that long ago, before Darling, we’d be down there taking what we want. Now…now I’m not so sure just any wet cunt will do.
Whatever we might have done is decided for us because the girls come up of their own accord. They’ve been here before. They’ve bobbed on our dicks, had a mouthful of our cum.
“Hey,” the girl at the front calls as she saunters over to the king. He watches her come over with hooded eyes.
I can’t remember the girl’s name, but she’s the leader of this cohort. Libby or some shit like that.
She sits on Pan’s lap. He lets her.
A few others come to the couch and fill in the space between my brother and me. We may not be kings, but we are princes, and even if we’re banished, we still hold a certain undeniable currency.
I am tempted to touch.
I am reluctant to touch.
The fuck is this?
I am not a man who knows the shape of reluctance.
Libby hooks her arms around Pan’s neck and leans into him. He takes another long drink of the bourbon. “Have you missed me?” she asks him and bats her eyelashes.
The one beside me crosses her legs, letting her skirt ride up her milky thighs. “How are you, Bash?”
This one I remember. Cora. I’ve fucked her a few times. Made her cry a few more. She’s as much a whore for dick as she is a whore for attention. But I don’t have the capacity to give her what she wants.
“You’re such an arrogant prick,” she told me last time she was here.
“Cora, dear,” I’d said, “as if I care what you think.”
Of course, at the time, I was buried balls deep in another girl.
Thinking this, my cock twitches and I have to fight the urge to grab her and haul her onto my lap.
What stops me?
The awareness of Darling just down the hall.
I care what she thinks and I don’t know how I feel about that.
“Why are you giving me that look?” Pan says to Vane.
Vane is the only one without a girl by his side. Given the chance, they’d all let him chase them, but they know better than to try. Vane is as interested in them as he is in the art of folding cocktail napkins.
“What do you think your little Darling will do if she walks in here right now and sees you with that on your lap?” Vane says.
Libby’s mouth drops open. “Hey!”
Vane cuts his gaze to the girl and she quickly clamps her mouth shut.
Pan sits forward and looks at the Dark One around the heaving swell of Libby’s tits. “I am a king,” he says, a little drunk. “I do what I want.”
“You keep telling yourself that.”
“We don’t do exclusive.” Pan says the latter like its edged in ick.
“Are you trying to convince me?” Vane counters.
“What the fuck is she going to do about it?” Pan says.
Vane leans back in his chair and opens his book. He’s always got a book within reach. “She’ll checkmate your ass before you even know you’re sitting at the board.”
Kas says to me, When do you think Vane will admit he doesn’t hate the Darling?
I snort. And ruin his reputation? Never.
He’s right, though, Kas says, if Darling comes out here, she’s going to be pissed.
Pan’s too drunk and angry to be thinking straight. I will enjoy the show when she does.
A dark-haired girl, one I don’t recognize, slips closer to my twin. “My name’s—”
“I don’t care what your name is,” Kas answers, barely giving her a look.
Who’s the asshole tonight? I say.
Fuck off.
The Darling has you wrapped around her finger.
Kas gives me a heavy look. She’s got a finger for one and all.
I laugh out loud. The girls frown at us, annoyed at being excluded from the conversation.
Vane settles into his book and Pan carries on with Libby like he’s just daring Vane to say something. But he hasn’t undressed her. He hasn’t put his mouth on her. He hasn’t fucked her.
I can see the truth in his actions.
Peter Pan is just as reluctant as I am.
