LISTEN: I was having severe writer's block. How do you solve thing? You write absolute filth! I've always secretly wanted to write an explicit one shot for fun. I don't know if I did well or not. I don't care. Here it is! Whatever. FILTH.

Rated MA.

It simply wasn't true that Peter Pan did not grow up.

He wished that he didn't, but he did. Pretending that he would remain a child forever was simpler than having to think about growing up.

There was nothing about growing up that appealed to him. Peter had never longed for a coat with pockets on the inside, and smart hats to make one seem taller. He never ever wanted to utter the phrases 'Good day' or 'bank deposit' in his life. All of it seemed completely boring, adventure was the only thing that drew him to living. In fact, he would rather die than go without adventure.

But it simply wasn't true that Peter Pan could not grow up. Worse still, he could not stop it.

In the small months that he had left Wendy, he had done quite a bit of growing up behind his own back. He had remembered sternly Wendy's promise to visit in the spring, and he also held on dearly to her memory instead of forgetting as was his usual habit. Peter found himself visiting London often, making up excuses to go just to peek inside Wendy's window. Sometimes he would pretend to not know who 'Wendy' was and call her 'Mary'. Yet still he wandered several days in the Kensington Gardens across from her little window where he could see her cross the shuttered opening every once in a while.

Peter was anxious for springtime, although he created other reasons to be anxious for it other than Wendy's promise to come visit him, and his heart beat rapidly in his chest as he waited for her in the Kensington Gardens amongst the budding fig trees and bursting crocuses. The fairies of the park were elated to see their little Peter so grown, and built him a small dwelling amongst the figs with a window just rightly placed to see Wendy's house, but Wendy never saw him from her window.

The buds burst into leaves, and the flowers followed after. Peter waited with bated breath for Wendy to come to him, yet she never did. There were even occasions when she had come into the park to play, yet she never wandered towards the makeshift cottage in the fig trees. Finally, he felt he should go to her, as clearly he had no address to mark the place where he lived, and Wendy had simply not known where to find him. So, the next time Wendy came into the Gardens, he walked swiftly towards her.

He planned on what to say to her. Should he tease her about her lateness? Or pretend that he had not noticed she hadn't called on him? As he approached her he had several things to say all at once, but as she turned to look at him, he was struck dumb and nothing came out of his mouth. Wendy looked over her shoulder at Peter, and as if seeing no one in particular, her eyes moved away without a single hint of recognition. Peter's heart shattered. He was not even aware of its ability to shatter but he heard it breaking in his ears. He looked at the back of Wendy, a stranger to him now.

Wendy had forgotten all about him.

Bitterly, Peter flew back to his Neverland. The feelings so heavy on him that he barely made the flight. When finally back, he was racked with crying he had never experienced in his memory. His breath was hard to catch, and the solitude of Neverland was aggravated when no one came to hush his crying.

Although he does not know it, Peter is well acquainted with tragedy, and so the days following his grief, Peter set on soothing himself in the way he knew best. He simply pretended that Wendy had come with him. He played all by his lonesome self in the paradise of Neverland. Nary a pirate or native in sight, Peter's loneliness shut out all of the usual inhabitants of his island save for the fairies and the wild beasts.

He kept the wild beasts because when they would look at him, their dark eyes passed over him in the same way Wendy's had at the park. The same cold, uninterested gaze. As if Peter was simply another tree or shrub amongst the forest.

He was always prone nightmares, in the past he had made quick work of forgetting them, but now they seemed more wicked and deep. He remembered all of them. When he would wake he could not shake the turmoil of his dreams and carried them around solemnly by day.

Most of his nightmares were about Wendy, about his mother, about growing up. It was all very unnerving, and Peter took to daydreaming about Wendy most of the time. He dreamed she would fly herself to the Neverland and she was hiding behind a tree, just waiting to reveal herself to him. He dreamed of reasons why she had not seen him that day, why she had not recognized him.

A whole year he spent this way, and when spring began to roll about in the Kensington Gardens again Peter could not resist coming down to see if Wendy would come this year. Perhaps she had meant to visit next spring, and not this spring?

Peter spent a month in the little cottage by the figs. Pipping on his pipes, and trying hard not to look at Wendy's window to the south. He caught sight of her, several times, and each time his heart leapt into his throat. It was a terribly uncomfortable experience.

Then, one day, a kite wandered into one of the fig trees, and Peter made to climb and fetch it.

"Hey! That's mine!" Yelled a boy who clearly imagined Peter a thief. The boy ran towards him, raveling the string anxiously to reclaim his kite.

"I was just going to come get it." Peter said already three branches up. He plucked it from between the twigs and bent to drop it down to the boy, but it was not the boy who caught it. It was Wendy. He stared down at her from the trees, suddenly aware that he was only wearing leaves. She caught the kite and waved him thanks, all the while a small acorn dangled from a chain around her neck. She had kept his kiss. Swiftly he grabbed the thimble hanging on the thong around his neck and screamed.

"Hey!"

She turned to look at him, and to his happy surprise found that her brow twitched in small recognition. His heart picked up pace.

"Don't you remember…" He began. Wendy tilted her head to assess Peter more fully. Mother had always warned her not to speak to the 'vermin who lived in the Gardens', but something seemed strange about Peter. Slowly she began to shake her head 'no'. Peter, feeling the prick of tears, leapt down from the branches to meet her face to face. It unnerved him to find that he had grown much taller than she had. Wendy seemed to have only grown… rounder. Fuller. The changes in them only aggravated the distance that time had put between them.

"Wendy, don't you remember?" He asked again, tears now falling from his eyes. He held out the thimble for her to observe, and he made to reach for her acorn, but she stepped back from him. Peter's face was twisted in woe, and he tore the thimble from his neck.

"You can have your stupid thimble!" He screamed, feeling another wave of uncontrollable tears, and without warning, pushed from the ground and flew back to Neverland, never to visit for the next few years.

Back in his Neverland, Peter cried often. It was not only Wendy who grieved him but the feeling of him getting bigger. For a long time, he felt as if nothing much was changing with himself, and thought perhaps he really was a boy who never grew up. But the following year proved that he indeed was just an ordinary boy who would become an ordinary man. His voice deepened, and it gave his crying a horrendous sound. His legs and arms, which appeared to have grown so quietly until recently, began to fill and loose their twiggish charm. Soon, Peter would be a man. Soon, Peter would have to end his adventure. He still loved Wendy, and could not stop thinking about her each and every day. As the years passed he once again lost himself to fantasy and created make believe reasons why she did not remember him, and daydreamed about being with her once again. It did little to numb the pain, but it was all the Peter knew.

The worse to come were the dreams. He dreamed of touching and feeling Wendy in his arms. He dreamed of the thimble he had tossed back to her, and wished that perhaps he could go back and claim it once more. In his dreams he felt skin beneath his hands, and warmth against his body. Opened lips and secret pleasures plagued him.

Wendy's dark brown hair was twisted amongst his hands, and he could feel the softness of the tresses. Within those tresses his hands cupped her head and Peter was laying her down in the flowers of the gardens. Fairies invaded his sleep and they whispered wicked things to him, telling him what he should do to Wendy. Peter's hands caressed her neck and he saw her face looking up at him. Her hands took his and pulled them down towards the curious fullness that Wendy had developed. Wendy squeezed his hand over her breast, the flesh soft and warm. The feelings began to climb. Peter wanted to see her, but as he looked down he saw nothing, as he was ignorant of what was truly under Wendy's clothes. Even in dreams he could not invent such things. Yet, Wendy pulled his hand lower, over her belly, past her hips between her legs. He startled awake, feeling hot and electrified from the dream.

In the darkness of the night Peter's hands wandered among his new and strange body, thinking of Wendy all the while. He felt the tender swell of his arousal, a part of himself he had yet to explore and until recently had scared him with its strange growth and sensations. Tonight he explored those sensations, and holding firmly he felt the climb of orgasm as he stroked himself in darkness until he felt the burst of a flurry of pulsations that made him think of only one thing:

He had to go see Wendy once more.

He had to feel her as he felt her in the dreams.

It was late February, certainly not the time for 'spring cleaning' but Peter did not care. He did not come to London tonight to see Wendy under the pretense of keeping a promise she made however many years ago. Tonight he came to London to feed his hunger for her. The hunger he had been building ever since they last parted. He did not plan to wake her. Only see her, maybe touch her.

When he got to the little window, he found that she was no longer there. Only a strange young man slept here, and he snored loudly enough for Peter to open the door into the hallway in search of Wendy. It was easy enough to find her, as all three of the other rooms were filled with snoring, and when he got to Wendy's he felt an electricity begin to build.

He turned the small door knob and the door swung quietly inward as he stepped inside. The rumbling of the snoring next door masked his footsteps and breathing as he turned to see Wendy in her bed. She was fast asleep, dreaming, one leg thrown over the blankets as she had kicked them off in her sleep. Suddenly he felt unable to go to her. How could he have thought about stealing into her house and doing those things to her when she was sleeping? It seemed despicable, now. How would she feel if she awoke to a stranger in her bed? He simply could not do it, so he turned to leave.

A small whisper stopped him dead.

"Peter…" She spoke. His heart fell to his knees and he whispered back ever so softly,

"Wendy?"

But she did not respond. Her eyelids twitched in dream and she made little moans only.

"Wendy?" He asked a bit stronger. This time she breathed his name again. Elated and anxious Peter came to her and watched her carefully.

"Wendy, I'm here. Wendy…" The joy of hearing his name against her lips was almost too much for him, and he cupped her lovely face in his hands, his thumbs caressing her cheeks ever so softly. At his touch, Wendy's eyes slipped open and beheld him. Peter had turned to quivering stone above her, frozen in her gaze as he held her face. Then the most wonderful words came from her.

"Peter? Is that you?" She said. The words were stolen from him. He could only nod dumbly before her. Wendy reached out to touch his face, as if making sure that he was real, and her brow knitted in wonder.

"I was dreaming about you."

"About me?" He managed, his throat tight in excitement. The dreams he had about her were… altogether wicked. Could she possibly be dreaming of him in the same way?

"I always dream about you." She admitted, her face began to feel warm beneath his hands. He smiled down at her and pressed his cheek to hers. His face had become like sandpaper in adolescence, and he was disappointed to find the softness of her cheek could not reach him, but Wendy turned her face and kissed him longingly on the cheek. It almost broke him into pieces. It was then that Peter realized how important Wendy was to him. He had gone without her for so long that the realness of her now seemed almost unbearable. The feelings that she had first instilled in him years ago came rushing at him like a wave. But had she not forgotten him?

Peter pulled his face back to study her expression.

"You truly know who I am?" He asked.

"Of course." She said, pulling a ribbon necklace from her nightshirt. Hanging from it were both the thimble and the acorn.

"My thimble!" Peter cried.

"And your kiss." She said softly. "Would you like it back, Peter?"

"In my dreams you always give me back my thimble." He said sourly. If this was just another dream, the wild touchings would begin, and Peter would wake up alone in his treehouse. He could not discredit his wild imagination for dreaming up this encounter.

"Is this a dream, Peter?" Wendy asked. She seemed just as confused as he. Could they both be dreaming at the same time? Then a thought occurred to him. If this were a dream…

"I would like my thimble back." Peter demanded. "I want it forever around my neck. Please…" He pressed his lips firmly to hers and he heard her inhale deeply. He meant to pull away, having done his thimble, but Wendy pulled his face back towards hers, pressing his lips between hers again and again. Peter let out little moans, touching his tongue to her lips as she kissed him. When she stopped kissing him, Peter had become heavy and hot with want. Wordlessly, she slipped the ribbon over his head, acorn and all. He looked down at the little trinkets, still trying to ascertain if this was a dream or not.

"I'm sorry I forgot to come for springtime." Wendy whispered. "It's not that I had forgotten. I dreamed about you always, I promise. I had just… I stopped believing, you see?"

"Stopped believing? That I would come?"

"No. That you were real." She admitted. Peter could not help feeling a bit hurt at her words.

"But you had my kiss! Was that not real enough for you?"

"Peter, being with you is like a dream. It's all so wonderful." She said pulling him back to sit on her bed. He stopped to think. This was certainly a strange dream if it was one, and he could understand her confusion, but it didn't assuage the hurt that he had experienced.

"Is this a dream now?" He asked coyly. Wendy could not answer. So, they were both unsure after all. Well, if it was only a dream, Peter may as well enjoy it. Perhaps he might wake up with his thimble around his neck.

"If this is a dream, your dream," Began Peter, "What happens now?" Wendy looked at him for a long while making a silent decision before she gently pulled him down to lay beside her on the small bed.

"If this is my dream, and I can do as I like…" She said her fingers tracing his cheeks. Something inside of Peter twisted and he felt his heart pick up pace.

"You can do as you like." He said in a whisper. She held his face for a while, feeling the roughness of his cheeks, then running her fingers through his tousled hair. Peter closed his eyes, savoring the little sensations as she explored him. Over his neck, throat, and then his shoulder Peter gulped as he felt his growing excitement below. Wendy tentatively pushed his shoulder into the bed as she overtook him and he looked at her lazily above him. Usually in his dream he was the one exploring Wendy, but now as this seemed Wendy's dream, it was Peter's turned to be explored and he found it even more thrilling. Her hands made their way to his chest and her fingers dove beneath his covering of leaves to feel the skin below. He prayed that she could not feel how frantic his heart was beating as he watched her with lustful study. Her mouth fell open and her tongue darted between her teeth as if it longed to… taste him. Peter became suddenly aware of his powerful arousal and shifted beneath her. Something must have surprised her as she quickly dismounted him. He covered himself with his hands, suddenly self-conscious. He prayed that this would not become one of those dreams.

"What's wrong?" He asked meekly. Wendy shook her head, as if gathering courage, then placed her hand on his chest once more. Peter breathed deeply and watched her anxiously. Wendy pulled his wrists away from his waist, and he was revealed once more. He looked down to see his arousal struggling beneath his leaves and made to cover himself again.

"Don't" She said softly. He laid his hands flat to his side and watched her study his body. Growing brave Wendy traced her hands down to his belly where he quivered tentatively. She pulled at the leaves and willed her wishes into his mind. Take them off. She said. Wordlessly Peter sat up to pull the wrapping of leaves and vines from his torso, and unlatched an acorn which held the bottom together. All she had to do was pull it away. If she dared. He laid back down and recommenced his watching of her. Wendy became shy and searched for the hem of her garment. All too quickly Peter realized what was about to be revealed to him, and was prepared for the shadows of curves that haunted his dreams, but when she pulled her nightgown up and over her head, his mouth fell open in wonder. She was not the skinny child he had first stolen from the window, now she was a full woman. Her figure was soft and delicate curves, not anything like his hard and squared body. He reached out to touch her and traced a line from her shoulder, over a voluptuous breast, and then underneath it to lift and cup it gently in his hand. His mind shot out three direct orders.

Fill your hands,

Fill your mouth,

Smother.

But he did not know how to follow them. It was no matter, as Wendy took his hand and pushed it gently back to his side. He gazed at her form and memorized it. The way her flesh was swollen over her belly, the way her legs were parted… that strange darkness between them. His hands twitched to wander in that mysterious darkness, but Wendy then pulled his arms up over his head.

"This is my dream, remember?" She said darkly. Gently she pushed his face aside and kissed his neck, her breasts pushing against his chest. He wanted to touch her. He had to, but she held his wrists down in one hand and the other… the other hand traced his belly down to his groin.

"W-Wendy…" He breathed sharply as her hand dove beneath his leaves to feel the length of him. He could not suppress a moan. The feeling of her hand holding him so intimately almost sent his reeling.

Any moment now, he would be thrust awake and alone in his treehouse. He was certain of it.

But Wendy had not been shadows as she was in his dreams, and Peter became anxious that he may not wake up at all. He felt her mouth plant kisses down his chest as she began to stroke him softly.

"Wendy, you have to stop…" He warned her. He felt it coming. The final pulsation. Then terribly, she listened and stopped her stroking, but her kissing did not cease. She released her hold on his wrists and planted kisses farther down his belly. What sort of things had Wendy dreamed about with him, he wondered. He had certainly never dreamed of something like this! He watched in awe as she kissed his arousal, her lips planted to the tip, and suddenly she took him into her mouth. Peter slid inside her mouth with sensation so powerful he could not help but push himself deeper into that warmth, and then it hit him. The pulsating bliss. He groaned and grabbed at the sheets as he felt himself release into her mouth. She held him there, between her lips as the final pulses ebbed. Peter released the sheets and tried to think clearly, his head still swimming in afterglow. He felt her lips pull away from him as she made to drink some water on the bedside table.

"This… is your dream?" He asked, amazed. Wendy did not respond, and for a moment he thought he had gravely offended her, but she was smiling coyly at him.

"Yes, and it's not over yet." She said. Wendy was still nude and she laid down next to him. "Now it's your turn."

"My turn?" he asked unsure. In his mind, he was spent. What else was there to do? He was ignorant in their play, but Wendy pulled him over herself anyways. His arms were still shaking from his recent ordeal, and he looked over her, dazed.

"What do I do?" He asked her.

"What you like." She responded. All shyness had gone from her, and she caressed her fingers over herself in anticipation. Peter tentatively reached out to touch the skin below her breast, and was pleased to see a shiver run through her, sharpening the little bud which sat upon it. He grazed over it with his thumb and filled his hand with her flesh. The memory of his release was wiped from his mind as he began to hunger once more. His mouth yearned to cover that little bud, and that is exactly what he bent to do. He heard her gasp as he suckled onto her and the sound was fire in veins. His tongue flicked and toyed with it, pulling little sounds from Wendy all the while. His hand kneaded her other breast with growing force, feeling the plushness of the flesh. He held himself above her to better crush her body into his, and felt her legs coyly wrap around his torso. A warmth pressed against his abdomen, and he released her bud to see what it was. The darkness between her legs was spread against him, and he pulled away to see what it was. It was completely new and unfamiliar. An alien tempting thing that he yearned to press into. A slickness ridden with curls. His hands reached down to play with the mysterious folds, and her legs shut themselves on him like a clam. Slightly alarmed, he looked to her face, and noticed for the first time that her legs were shaking. She looked down at him in a dark and lustful way, and slowly she opened her legs again. Trying to be gentle he felt along the silken ridges, but when he touched a small protrusion she inhaled sharply. He hoped it was in pleasure, and tried the thing again. Every small gesture made her jump, and Peter grew scared that perhaps he was hurting her, so he stopped. She groaned at him, and in a way that was most undoing said,

"Don't stop, Peter."

Peter wanted her to fall apart in his arms the way she had made him fall apart in hers, so he began to kiss down her stomach and over her pubis to that little bead which was so tantalizing to her. With soft licks he began his play and Wendy pushed her hips to him. The taste of her was intoxicating, and he grabbed the flesh of her bottom to pull her towards him. Wendy's hands flew into his hair and she ground herself against his tongue, each mount emitting a more frantic moan. Then Peter felt it, the sweet pulsing of Wendy against his mouth as she sighed with happy pleasure. Nothing came out of Wendy like with Peter, but the pulses came from within her, and with curious fingers, Peter felt among the folds to find a small opening. Spying her reaction, he slipped his finger into it. When he resumed his licking of her bead he felt her flesh pulsing tighter against his finger, and suddenly Peter understood. He knew what the place between her legs was for. He imagined slipping into that tight warmth and he could feel himself grow swollen again. It was the most beautiful thing he could imagine, to be inside of her. Truly be one with her. He wondered if she knew. Peter looked at her as he tested his theory and placed himself against her. She did not seem shocked, or even confused. Instead she smiled sweetly at him and pulled his face down to hers to kiss him. He was fully aroused now, and Wendy rocked teasingly against him. He felt the tip of himself become enveloped in her and the sensation was overwhelming. Slowly he felt Wendy push him deeper into herself and she breathed in sharply with each small motion, as if it was just as equally pleasant for her. Peter could not move, he was paralyzed in pleasure, but when finally he was completely inside her, incase by her, he could not help but dig himself deeper and grind against her. His mind went blank, and he hardly remembered that Wendy was here at all. Instead Peter could only think of wanting more of this feeling, of climbing higher towards his release. So he began to pull and push and then thrust.

Any moment now he was sure to wake up alone in his tree… any moment this dream would break. It had to. He could not imagine such feelings being real, and yet he continued thrusting. Wendy stilled below him and held him firm against her as she was racked with an orgasm, and Peter felt her inside squeeze him intimately. Sweetly the pulses drew him to his release, and he covered Wendy with kisses. He had not woken up. This was not a dream after all.

"It's really me, Wendy." He said, worried she may wonder it was all a dream.

"I know." She responded between kisses.

They fell asleep there in the small bed and for a few hours everything was perfect.

But when Peter awoke and beheld Wendy those thoughts of growing up consumed him again. He could not tether Wendy to his life, what kind of partner could he be? What kind of husband? No, it was better to leave her.

At least until he was more ready.

A few more years, at least.