A/N: Wow! I didn't even think I'd get reviews for this story. Thank you so much, all of you, for reviewing. I'd give you all cyber hugs. And special thanks to WuffieLuver, Ophilia LeNoir, and H. I really appreciate your comments and helpful criticisms. Keep them coming. I'm sorry I updated this story so late. I've been busy with my Econ project of how legalizing prostitution makes good economic sense (long story of how I got assigned that topic). But with the upcoming holidays, new chapters will come up much faster, I promise. So enough about me, enjoy the story! Oh and review when you're done. Thanks! =)
A figure dressed in green leaves had his back turned to them and was adjusting his clothes. He was about to sheath his arm-length sword when he heard the faint sound of glass crackling under someone's foot. Drawing the sword once again, he whirled around and pointed the edge of the blade three-quarters of an inch from the base of a young man's throat.
"Holy shit!" Ian squeaked. Breath coming in even pants, Ian raised his gaze from the sword to its owner. His eyes widened.
"Damn, he's fine!" The blonde gave his attacker a thorough once over and smiled approvingly. He spread his arms wide to imply surrender and licked his lips in anticipation. "You don't by any chance have a black leather whip, do you?" The figure only moved the blade closer to Ian's neck. "Guess not," Ian hissed. All teasing set aside, he glared at the intruder with a most unpleasant expression on his face. "Look, we don't want any trouble. So maybe you should just cool it with the sword, alright."
"Ian. . ." started Stephanie.
"No, it's okay Steph. I got everything under control." He looked at the intruder straight in the eye. "Do what you want to me, but leave her alone." Ian swallowed twice and felt the blade brush against his Adam's apple.
While Ian performed his display of bravado, Stephanie stared, transfixed by the figure dressed in green. His hair was a deep auburn with natural red and gold highlights from the sun. It was ruffled and messy as if he had just come out of a windstorm. He was clothed in forest leaves and green leggings, and wore dark brown leather boots, skillfully hand sewn at the edges. A matching leather belt that held a small pouch and a sheath for his sword was strapped around his slender waist. The figure looked young, Stephanie thought, probably around the same age as Ian. It then occurred to her that this intruder who now held her friend captive was. . .Peter Pan!
"Ian, do you know who's standing right in front of you?" Stephanie asked in awe.
He turned his head a little to glance at her, finding her question a bit odd considering the situation.
"Uh. . .no, not really Steph. You'll have to enlighten me here," Ian said nervously. The blade dug in closer to his neck.
"That's Peter Pan!" Stephanie exclaimed. At that mention of his name, Peter directed his attention to the girl.
Ian frowned. "Who?!"
Stephanie sighed. "You know, Peter Pan? The boy who never grew up? Neverland?"
Ian made a quiet "Oh" with his mouth and brought his eyes back to the intruder, the supposed Peter Pan.
"He doesn't look much like a 'boy' to me," Ian said cooly.
It was Peter's turn to frown. "And what's that supposed to mean?" he demanded.
"Oh, now he talks! When he gets insulted he talks." Ian looked up at the ceiling as if her were talking to some greater being. "Is this my punishment for not being a good Catholic?"
"Peter?" Stephanie appeared cautiously beside him. He instantly backed away from her, emerald green eyes darting all around the room. "Peter, we won't hurt you." She gave him a reassuring smile. "You can put your sword away," she said gently. "It's safe."
Peter turned his fiery green eyes back to Ian. "What about him?"
"He won't harm you. He was just 'protecting' me," said Stephanie with a sarcastic tone in her voice. Ian simply smirked.
Settling his gaze on the girl's sincere expression, Peter felt a tension ease out of him. Though reluctant, he finally withdrew his sword and safely secured it in its sheath.
Ian sighed in immense relief and leaned his back against the wall, grateful that no blood was drawn from his neck that would have stained his lucky shirt. Breathing heavily, he shot a glance at Peter Pan. Peter met his stare with a stern one of his own. "I thought. . .you'd be a little kid about," he placed his hand up to his waist (Ian was roughly 6'2"), "this high."
Peter half-laughed. "I haven't been that tall for a while." His voice had a notable masculine edge to it. Pushing long bangs back from his eyes, Peter looked around the room, and frowned. "Where am I?"
"You're in my room," Stephanie simply replied.
Peter looked at her. "I know that. But do you mind telling me where your room is?" He quickly held up a hand before Stephanie could open her mouth. "And I don't mean your house."
Stephanie pursed her lips and made a short, high sound through her nose as if she had been insulted.
Ian snickered and shook his head at Peter. "You don't talk much to girls, do you?" Peter frowned. "Let me give you some advice. Never activate the PMS switch. 'Cause once it gets going, it won't stop until she goes shopping and loses all her energy to bitch or has a pound of chocolates to pig out on." He gave Peter a masculine pat on the shoulder. "Trust me. It's best to humor them."
Wide eyes the color of steel brown and mouth gaping, Stephanie stared at her two companions in disbelief. A disgusted sound escaped her curled lips as she looked from one boy to the other.
"Of all the pig-headed, stupid, dumb-ass comments I've ever heard, that was the absolute wor–"
"See, what did I tell you!" grinned Ian. "She's already on the rampage." Glancing Peter from sun streaked red hair to toned muscular calves, Ian allowed a suggestive smile to play across his lips. Peter, entirely oblivious to Ian's subtle invitation, glanced down and examined himself. Shrugging broad yet slender shoulders, he raised his gaze and met glassy blue eyes that would have made any angel jealous were it not for the mischievous gleam in them. Peter involuntarily shuddered, finding the look in Ian's eyes unnerving.
"C'mon Peter, let's take a walk to the kitchen while Steph cools off," Ian suggested in his playful humor once again. Peter blinked. No reminiscence of that unnerving gleam lingered in those bright cornflower blue eyes, as if Peter simply imagined it.
Scratching his head, he peered curiously at Ian, then finding nothing out of the ordinary, nodded his head and allowed this strange fellow to guide him to the door.
Ian tossed a patronizing smile over his shoulder at Stephanie, and clucked his tongue when she gave him an obscene gesture with her hand. "You know better manners than that," Ian said in a poor imitation of an upper crust Englishman. His smile widened as she narrowed her eyes; one hand clenched into a small fist at her side. "When you can behave yourself, young lady, you can join us downstairs. Until then," he made a gesture to the broken pieces of scattered glass behind her, "you can clean up your room." And with that he regally made his way down the stairs.
"Lazy ass," muttered Stephanie. Sighing, she turned around to take inventory of the mess only to find the floor immaculately clean, free of any shards of glass or wood framing. Eyes wide and unbelieving, she knelt down on all fours and smoothed her hands over the dark wood. Not a single debris of glass remained. The floor was even polished, shimmering in the autumn light cast by the sunset. The once demolished window now stood whole and perfect as if Peter had never crashed into it. Coming to her feet, Stephanie ran a finger over the window's edge and horizontal crossings. Her mouth gaped in amazement as she lifted her hand up to the dim light. A pale finger emerged coated in glittering golden dust.