Peter's room was warm. Candles flickered in the corner, and the bioluminescent roots of the trees made the room glow gold and blue. Animal skins hung on the walls, covered the floor, lay over his bed.
Wendy thrilled inside a little to think of his doing battle with the vicious bears that lived on the island. His face wild and determined, his skin glistening with sweat… Oh Lord, she had to calm down. But the thoughts of his torso did not leave her mind.
Peter was standing next to the bed staring at her, both hands on the hem of his shirt. "Just do what you normally do to get ready for bed Wendy," he said, his voice husky. She watched delighted as he pulled the shirt over his head, the muscles of his stomach flexing and un-flexing. She turned her head away quickly. Picking up the small hand mirror she'd brought from London on the table next to the wall, she checked her reflection. Her hair had come out of it's tie, and lay lopsided on her head. She glanced back, and saw he was watching her, curious. She looked away and fiddled with the ribbon in her hair, embarrassed at what a mess she was.
Peter was completely out of his element. He knew this was a bad idea. He wanted to touch her, to hold her. This is exactly what he was trying to avoid. But here she was. In his room. Being so... Wendy-ish. His heart was being swept along by the tide of emotion boiling inside of him.
Wendy chanced another peek behind her. Peter had turned his back and was picking a few leaves from his hair. She stared at the broadness of his shoulders, the fine lines of the sides of his body that swooped down to his hips. She turned back to the mirror and freed her hair letting it cascade down her back. She tied the ribbon around her wrist delicately and began to brush out her hair with the comb on the table. She felt tiny and fragile in this room with Peter. Any sudden movement might startle him back to his senses, and he'd make her leave. And Lord, but she wanted to stay.
Peter had turned from grooming himself to see Wendy's hair fall from the ribbon. He watched, fascinated by the shine of it in the candle light. Something about Wendy was so intriguing. She was so graceful and quiet, like a doe in a meadow. Alert, swift, beautiful.
He caught a whiff of her scent. That smell of wildflowers, soaked in sunshine. It drew him like magnet. He found his feet moving toward her. He couldn't help it. When he reached her, he gently lifted a section of her hair and let it run through his fingers. "You're so pretty Wendy, he whispered.
Wendy froze. Her breathing hitched. She could feel his presence all over her body, his warmth radiating off his skin. She let the sensation engulf her. She could feel his breath in her hair, the smell of Neverland on him. His fingers combed the tangles out of her hair gently.
"Peter," she breathed.
Peter moved his hands down to her shoulders, careful of the fresh scar from Hook's dagger. He nuzzled his nose against the back of her head. Moving his head down over her ear to her neck, he rested his chin against her shoulder. Nestling his cheek into the warmth there, he let out a soft sigh. She lifted her hand up to cup his face.
Wendy's nerves blazed. Everything she had experienced with Peter so far had been leading up to this moment. But what about all the things he had said? Those things had weight. And what about the boys' lives? If they kept touching, she was sure she'd lose herself in Peter, and him in her.
"Peter?" she asked quietly, loathing what she was about to say.
"Yes Wendy?" His hands were gliding down her arms to her hands to hold them tightly in his.
"What about all the things we talked about… before?"
Peter paused and lifted his head slightly from the crook of her neck. "I can't help it Wendy. I need to touch you." He laid a gentle kiss on her shoulder. Wendy's eyelids fluttered shut.
"And," he continued. "I couldn't concentrate when I went hunting. All I could think of were you and the boys. How I couldn't wait to see you again. How, if we were in my room, no one could see us." He moved her hair to the other side of her head. "How Hook would never see us…" He kissed her neck. Wendy gave a little moan from deep in her throat. "Maybe I wouldn't be distracted any more if I knew what is was like to kiss you."
Peter turned Wendy slowly around to face him. Her eyes opened, heat behind them and stared into his. Her heart had never pounded so hard. She felt his breath on her face.
He pressed his lips to hers.
Explosions of tingles erupted inside of them. Wendy wrapped her arms around Peter's neck. Burying her hand in his tangled hair with one, she held his bare shoulder with the other. He skin hot under her hand. Peter grabbed her bringing her body firmly against his. His fingers explored her back, her waist. When he curved over her hips and gave them a little squeeze, she thought she might die.
"Wendy! Wendy! I had a bad dream!" The words from the next room tore into them like a sharp blade. Michael was crying out for her. Peter groaned and held Wendy tighter against him.
"That's Michael's voice," said Wendy muffled against his lips.
"Yes." Peter moved his hand up to her head to hold it there. He shifted his mouth against hers, parting it. His tongue touched her lips, and she shivered. He was tempting her.
"But I need to go to him…" Wendy pulled away a little. The room was cold, but Peter's face was so warm. She planted her lips on his again, flicking her tongue out to meet his as well.
"Wendy!" cried Michael, starting to blubber.
Wendy was determined now. Her little brother needed her. It took all her might to push against Peter's arms to free herself.
He sighed when he knew all was lost. He rubbed his face, letting the blood retract from his nethers. "I'll go Wendy, you stay here." He pulled his shirt back on and pushed past the bearskin.
Wendy poked her head out of Peter's room and watched as Peter knelt beside Michael's bed.
"Peter!" exclaimed Michael. He wrapped his chubby arms around Peter's neck.
"It's all right Michael it was just a dream. It's all right, I'm right here." Peter pulled him into his lap and asked what the dream was about.
Wendy was stone still. Peter playing the Father/Mother game with Michael was melting the very heart in her body. If she had felt anything physical for Peter, somehow, this part of the game was overshadowing it. He was fierce but he was gentle. He was wild, but he was kind. It was almost too much. She came out to sit with them.
"Michael, are you all right?" she asked stroking his head. She placed one hand on Peter's arm. He looked up at her and smiled.
"Yes," said Michael. "Peter said it was just a dream. He was telling me a story of when he fought the Indians." He looked back up eagerly into Peter's face. "What happened after you surprised the Chief?" he asked, nuzzling into Peter's arm.
"He was so mad…" started Peter.
Wendy listened holding onto Michael's hand. Peter had said she was the best storyteller, but he could give his own run at that title. She almost forgot about kissing him as he wove a tale with jabs of swords, and daring risks. In her other hand was Peter's. His callouses rubbed against her smooth palm sending little sparks down her arm. Finally Michael was asleep again. Peter lay him down gently. He looked up at Wendy and smiled. Her heart opened to him fully. He took her hand again and led her back into his room.