Another lovely oneshot. I've missed these two, but someone requested I write another. I was only too happy to oblige! I think I've made Wendy a little.. darker. Which was fun. –Giggles.-
The tree branch was slender, too thin for anyone else to sit on. The two children didn't consider this a danger, merely regarded the branch as what it was; an opportune view of the sunset. They sat with their heels kicking over metres of bare, thin air, empty but for the breeze which whistled through the leaves like whispered secrets.
They giggled and sang, he on pipes and she tapping beats on her skinny thighs, largely ignoring the natural spectacle of the sunrise as it burst like a juicy grape into Neverland. They would see thousands afterwards, no doubt, why watch this one?
They were an odd pair. She was a pretty child, with wide grey eyes and nut brown hair spiralling in tight curls to her waist, dishevelled and filled with twigs. Scrapes covered her skinny knees, and yet her blue nightgown was pristine. There was an acorn on a string around her slim neck. He was just as, if not more, strange. Rather than traditional clothing he wore something resembling a tunic; scratched and battered, with spattering's of blood and salt water staining it. He was enchanting, green eyes vibrant as the forest trained on his companion, a pixie smile endearing under a fall of rakish red hair, that she could almost forgive the rest of his appearance.
Tied to his belt was a knife.
Bored, the children as one leapt from the tree branch, the air catching them as gently as a pillow and bouncing them back up like champagne corks. Their screams of laughter resounded around the surrounding trees, childish and frantic. She wasn't quite used to flying. She still found herself falling on occasion, a fact he found too amusing to remedy. He still found it fun to leave her until the last moment before swooping in to save her. Her brother had broken his wrist that way the other day.
She was enchanted. His music, his eyes, his touch. She was headyingly absorbed into a world far beyond her own.
He didn't call her by her name, but she didn't care. She'd always wanted to be 'Mother.' She called him Peter. It was one of many names the child assumed, each as meaningless as the last. He wore it like a coat; childishly straining under the constrain of adulthood.
He sometimes forget her, but that was okay too. When he remembered her, their games made up for it, and even when he didn't she could enjoy the mottled shadows of the leaves on his eyelids, the play of music on his lips.
He hurt her sometimes, unaware that it was wrong. She couldn't chastise him, not when he was so unaware, so charmingly insensible.
They played and hunted by day, they danced and ate by night. They didn't sleep much, but she didn't want to impose her view that perhaps more sleep might be beneficial. He was too busy having fun, and where's the fun with being alone? The child she called Peter was desperately afraid of being alone, without the knowledge that that was what he was afraid of. He was old enough to fear, but young enough not to know why; that age of inbetweenness before adolescence.
It was a shame he would remain that way, but, the girl supposed, that was his choice. They returned to the branch the next day, the boy eager to show the girl the branch he had found. She didn't tell him he had already shown her. She sat silently beside him, her bare legs swinging over nothingness.
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The branch was slender, to thin for anyone to sit on. The woman beneath had her eyes fixed on it, grey and wide in the moonlight. Her face was grave, but her eyes were dry. Dark hair, inscrutable in the night as to its colour, curled loosely to her chin, ruffling in the breeze that sent the leaves whispering. She stood alone, her arms crossed over a corset laced tightly to allow her breasts into half-circles over a small waist, loose breeches low on her hips.
Bumping on her thigh was a pistol. Two knives were concealed in her boots, a stiletto between her breasts.
A hardness of metal shot through her eyes as she considered the effort it would now take to climb all that way. She wrinkled her nose in distaste.
Before she could snap out of her reverie, tinged with the orange of sunset and the taste of fresh caught salmon, warm breath touched the back of her neck. Goose pimples shivered down her bare arms as she became acutely aware of a presence at her back.
"Anything wrong, my darling?" He murmured, his lips touching the soft skin on the top vertebrate of her spine.
"Wait and watch." She breathed, her eyes still above them, arms still crossed over her chest. His lips pressed higher, into the nape of her neck, before trailing lower over the crest of her shoulder. His tongue tasted her skin, teeth gently biting. She shivered once, leaving back into him, eyes flitting shut for a brief second as his hand encircled her waist. She couldn't stop a moan when his bare fingers slid to stroke the skin between her corset and breeches.
"Wendy." He chuckled, nibbling on her right ear lobe, "There's no time to wait."
"We're not getting any older." She smirked, refusing to turn away. Her endeavours were proven fruitful when his hand tightened on her hips, his lips darting away from her neck as he snapped his face upwards. A child, slim against the stars, settled himself on a branch he no doubt thought he had just discovered, so as to watch the sunrise. The man behind her hissed in a breath, arms tightening around Wendy protectively.
She watched her fill, curiously, her head cocked to the side. He let her. When she had seen enough she turned and the pair silently left, walking with practiced awareness of their feet. When at a safe distance, one warm hand caught hers and turned her to face him.
"How did you know he'd be there?" He asked quietly, eyes sparkling with starlight and full lips pressed into a thin line. She reached up to stroke one slim finger down the sharp line of his cheekbone, pressing close to him with a shiver of want. He obligingly wrapped her in his arms, one hand sliding under her corset to stroke the soft skin between her shoulder blades. She buried her face into his neck, his dark hair brushing the tops of her ears.
"He used to take me every day, and every day he'd think it was the first time. Do you think if I'd stayed, I would be just as forgetful?"
The man chuckled, his chest reverberating where it was pressed against hers.
"Forgetfullness would be a relief, after spending any extension of time with the devil."
She lifted her head, amused, lips curved invitingly. He lowered his face to hers, caressing her mouth in a slow kiss sent her breath down to her toes and back again; warm, and sweetly tasting of rum and salt.
"James," She gasped against his mouth, blood boiling in her veins as she felt his hard body against hers. He deepened in kiss in answer, lifting her to wrap her legs around his hips as he pressed her against a tree; its branches thick and more than enough to support to adult bodies. Mouths clashing and fingers tugging, she lay silently on the forest floor of Neverland, her bare legs around him as her back arched in pleasure, mouthing the name of the man she loved. Loneliness never crossed either of their minds these days. What a wonder, to grow older.