There was a scraggly precession of Pirates on the board, cleaning their fingernails with their knives and drinking their rum in small desperate sips. They didn't care for little boys. Michael landed upon the deck with a thud, and immediately regretted his not having any sort of weapon.
"I'm here to see Hook." He commanded, hands on his hips.
"Haha, the Cap'ns a bit busy, but I'm sure they'd loves ta see ya underneath."
"Hilarious. Where is he?"
"We oaughta gut ya, ya little brat."
"This is tiresome." Michael sighed and flew over the grumbling Pirates' heads and towards the Captain's quarters. "Hook!" He shouted, his breast bone vibrating with the force of his voice.
There was a brief silence, no one on the deck moved and there was no noise below. Then, Hook opened the door, a sword in his good hand. "And who, might you be?" The loathsome Pirate questioned, a small smirk placed in the corner of his thin mouth.
"I want Pan, I want him dead."
Hook considered this, taking in the appearance of the boy. Long hair, with shag in the front and no order to be seen, gangly and tall with an Adam's apple that reviled the size of the plum, he was definitely too old to be a lost boy. "I still, beg, the queation. Who are you, my dear man?"
Michael cringed at Hook's saccharine voice "Michael Nicolas Darling, Pan stole my sister."
/\
It was the way she danced as if she had no abandon, the way his pipe seemed to wrap its sweet tune around her body and cradle her as she swung her hips. Peter had never been so transfixed by just simple body movement in his life. He ached for her, in ways he never knew he could. His body felt as if it was all one heart, sputtering and thumping with each step she took to the music he was creating. His distraction forced him to pull the reeds away from his lip, and his body immediately felt dread as she stopped her dance.
"Oh, Peter, you are simply the most marvelous reed player. It's as if the wind is singing to us." She sighed, and took one last twirl. Peter, noticing his opportunity, stepped closely to her as she was dancing, pressing his hand gently against her forearm.
"Can you explain something, Wendy?" He whispered, and pulled her into him.
"What?" She smiled, Peter was worried by the light in her eyes, for it seemed she was unaware of the feelings he seemed to be… feeling.
"When you dance I… I have… grown up feelings." Peter whispered the last part, so that the few lost boys still getting ready to sleep in the other room couldn't hear him.
She wondered idly what kind of grownup feelings he meant but when she finally allowed herself to make eye contact, something she had been avoiding since the other night when she had said that dreaded word, there was a hunger there she had never imagined her Peter could feel.
"I was wondering what you remember about… the day at the beach?" He finally managed; it was hard for him to look at her. One part of him was screaming to be touched by, and to touch, Wendy; the other part shuddered at the implication.
"Quite a bit, I'm afraid." She breathed into his neck from where he had embraced her.
"No- I was just–" He took a deep breath, the scent of her making his head spin. She smelled of honey and lilacs and his mind wandered to the small part of him that remembered her taste…
"What, Peter?" She asked quietly, politely ignoring his growing affection.
"Oh, Wendy, I'm confused." He admitted begrudgingly, and tried his best to bashfully give some space between their hips.
"About what? About… this?" Boldly, Wendy caressed the protrusion from his leaves.
Peter shuddered and abruptly pulled away from her "No! I don't know… I just… Sometimes I feel like me, and sometimes I feel like, well it's me but a sad me, an angry me. I think it's because the other me is grown but… he thinks such dark things Wendy…"
The reminder of what he had witnessed in the other Peter's mind made his excitement flee, and he wanted to sink back into Wendy's arms; so when she collected him, pressing her nose into the crook of his neck, he sighed in contentment. He didn't know which Peter enjoyed her company more, but her soft breathing on his collar bone as she trailed small kisses across the length of it was more enticing than any adventure with Pirates.
"Would you like to talk about the awful things?"
Peter didn't feel like talking about anything, so he lifted her in his arms and brought his nose to her long russet waves.
"Peter." She allowed herself to chuckle, but her whole body tensed with apprehension. She was unsure whether she could find it in herself to be so close to him, so soon after he had rejected her so harshly. "Peter, please?"
He let her down gently, but held her close. "I like the way you feel against me." He admitted, and tried to pull her closer. And he did, he did like the way she felt against him very much. It was pleasant, the warmth, and held a softness he wasn't quite familiar with. He felt, however, that given the chance he would enjoy being close to her more often. He particularly enjoyed the way her chest curved out to meet him, the soft mounds pressing firmly below his own chest.
"Peter, really, it's… inappropriate, with the boy's right next door."
"How is it inappropriate?"
"To be… touching me."
"I just want to hold you near me." He admitted, not letting her go, his tanned brow furrowed.
"Peter." She was compelled to keep the words to herself, they sounded nasty even in her own mind, but they bubbled over so freely. "I wish only to be held by someone who loves me, not someone who... not by someone who cannot love." Once they were said, Wendy felt resigned to sleeping in the quarters with the lost boys. She knew that it was mean, to hold Peter's own words against him, but who was she to be played with like a toy?
"I-I do…" Peter let his arms drop from around her, but did not move away, allowing his head to stay buried in her neck. "I love you because that is how you wish it." He murmured "I wish to do anything for you. Is that love? If I could," He lifted his arms up again and cupped her face between his rough hands "I would look upon your face for the rest of forever. Is that love? I would die for you, kill for you… I would live… as a man for you. Is- is that love?"
Wendy cast her eyes to the floor; she no longer wished to meet his intense gaze. She wanted to brazenly for that to be the love she was looking for, but in truth, she was not quite sure how to define love. "I believe that love is…"
Peter pressed his lips to hers gently; his green eyes open with curiosity. He liked her face. He had no other way to describe this to himself, but he did. He liked her creamy skin, and her little upturned nose, he even enjoyed the way her brow crinkled when she shut her eyes. She has a good face. He concluded, before closing his eyes and encircling her waist with his arms.
"Oh, Peter." She sighed when she felt her feet lift off the ground.
"Do you wish to share the bed? If not I can sleep in Slightly's bed."
"No… Mothers and Fathers do share a bed."
Peter smiled brightly and he watched her very good face for a moment before they hit the ceiling with a little bump.
Wendy laughed, and Peter kissed her open mouth, wanting to capture the little bell that rang when she was amused.
"It seems as though someone is thinking very happy thoughts." She continued, and pressed her lips more heartily into his smile.
They floated down to the floor after Wendy had thoroughly explored every inch of Peter's willing mouth as his hands found their way to the soft flesh hiding underneath Wendy's top. He hesitated at her rib cage, certain that if he moved his quivering hands any farther Wendy would pull away from him.
Their feet hit the ground and Wendy did pull away, and she headed towards the large bed Peter had hanging from the wooden ceiling.
She pulled the straps and the ropes of her leaves away from her shoulders, her faze burning crimson like her hair as she felt her chest exposed, then her hips, and finally her leaves were around her ankles. She jumped onto his bed, as he stood struck into stillness, and shimmed herself under the soft fur covers.
There's nothing to be embarrassed by, you silly girl. Wendy admonished herself. He loves you, which means he loves your body, too.
Pan, shaking while he did so, slipped out of his own leaves and clumsily made his way onto the bed.
Wendy pressed their bare bodies together, and reveled in the warmth of their skin together. She was finally with her Peter. Finally.