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Awakenings	By : KimberlyA Category: M through R > Peter Pan > Het Views: 16011 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Peter Pan, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Author's Note: No real note this time. Hope you're enjoying the fic.

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Chapter 6
Differences
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Peter guided them to the same grassy hillside that overlooked the mountain castle in the sea, and when they landed lightly upon the ground, he took Wendy's hand with an eager smile. "Come, look!" he urged her, tugging upon her hand so that she followed him, her long nightdress trailing through the tall grass.

And then suddenly they broke through the grass into a small clearing, in which grasses had been woven and twisted, plaited and twined, to form a sort of cushioned nest just large enough for the both of them to lie down. Wendy looked at Peter with a question in her eyes, and Peter shrugged with a cocky grin. She wondered how long he had spent making this fragrant natural bed for them, bordered by wild roses perfuming the night. It was lovely, and yet it also intensified the nervous flutter in her belly.

She wanted to be with him, to touch him and be touched, but she was not quite sure how to begin. She looked down at the dark grasses so cool beneath her bare feet, and bit her lip.

Peter squeezed her hand gently, as if giving some silent reassurance, and pulled her toward him. Wendy's head came up, and she looked into his eyes in that brief moment before he took her in his arms and held her close to his chest.

And with that touch, with that gentle embrace, Wendy knew. This was right.

Nothing had ever been more right.

* * *

Peter stroked his hands through Wendy's silken hair, soothing her as he would a skittish animal. He could sense her tension, her nervous hesitation, and he could also sense when it dissipated at his touch.

Caressing Wendy's cheek softly with one finger, Peter tilted her face up to him and leaned his head down to press a tender, chaste kiss upon her trembling lips. He did not want for her to be frightened.

"Let us sit, Peter," she said shyly. "You needn't lean down so far."

But rather than sit, Wendy lay down upon the grassy bed Peter had made for her, her skin and gown pale against the dark green that looked nearly black in the moonlight. She reached up her hand in invitation, and Peter took it, kneeling the the grass and then lying down on his side, half-leaning over her.

With his hand absently stroking her far shoulder, Peter pressed brief, gentle kisses to Wendy's lips again and again, waiting until he might feel some indication that Wendy wanted more. It was not long.

When he felt her tongue hesitantly touch his lips, Peter opened for her gladly, waiting until her tongue took the initiative in exploring his mouth before allowing himself to greet her as enthusiastically as he wanted to do. Soon their tongues tangled together in a slow, sensual dance that left them both breathless when they parted.

Her eyes wide and dark as she looked up at Peter, Wendy deliberately took his hand in hers, and then moved it so that his palm was pressed to her cotton-clad breast. Peter's eyes closed as he savored the sensation, moving his hand oh-so-slightly so that he felt the hardened nipple beneath the fabric.

He had tried to imagine what Wendy's breasts might look like, for he was familiar with his own nipples and their tendency to harden, particularly in cold weather. But he wanted to know, wanted to see, wanted to touch with no clothing between them.

Leaning down to kiss Wendy for long moments, their breaths mingling, their sighs swallowed by each other's mouths, Peter at length raised his head again to look down at her, his lips wet, his eyes bright with entreaty. He reached for the top button of her nightdress and slowly unbuttoned it, watching her eyes all the while, waiting for permission or refusal. What he saw instead was a flare of heat, assuring him that despite her hesitations she wanted this as much as he.

Wendy raised her hands then togle gle in his tousled hair, pulling his head down for a long, passionate kiss that made Peter almost forget what his hand had been doing. With some difficulty, Peter divided his attention between Wendy's extremely distracting kiss and his attempts to continue unbuttoning her nightdress.

Unfortunately, he found that his fingers were clumsy with eagerness and he had too little experience with buttons, and so the tiny circles kept eluding his grasp. Before his frustration could grow, however, Wendy pulled gently away from his lips and brought her hands down from his head. Once again smiling the sweet smile that always made Peter's heart skip a beat, her eyes gazing intently into his, Wendy lowered her hands to her nightdress and began to carefully unbutton it, each button slipping through her fingers with a hushed silence that caused Peter's blood to thrum faster and faster through his body. He held himself almost entirely motionless, even his breath suspended, but he could not hide the hunger in his eyes or the eager shaking of his hands.

When Wendy had unbuttoned her nightdress as far as her waist, she once again took Peter's hand. Still holding his gaze, her eyes solemn as if this were a sacred ceremony, Wendy slipped his hand inside her nightdress and pressed it to her bare breast.

Peter did not move at first. Wendy's hand withdrew, leaving his alone in that soft and mysterious place, and Peter felt as if he had been given some precious gift, that in sharing her body with him Wendy was also sharing something more. Something important.

But in the next moment all such thoughts were lost, for he could think of nothing but the beautiful girl who was tugging his head down for another kiss. Her warm lips moved against his with greater urgency than before, as if she too had been fired by the feel of his hand on her flesh.

Peter stroked her breast hesitantly, her nipple hard as a pebble against his palm, and Wendy made a soft, eager noise in her throat, deepening her kiss even further. Emboldened by her response, Peter slowly flew up into the air, never breaking the embrace of their lips, so that he once more hovered above her as he had in his dreams. He wanted both of his hands free.

Gently, slowly, reverently, Peter opened her nightdress wide until the buttons stopped him near her waist. His mouth still pressed to hers, he could not see what he had bared, but he was still able to brush caresses against her skin again and again, senses finely attuned to her responses. With every gasp, every quiver, every slight arch of her back, Wendy told him of her pleasure in what he was doing, inflaming Peter's own passion even further.

When Wendy's hands stroked his hair and then gracefully dropped to the grass on either side of her head, her palms vulnerable in their openness to the sky, Peter gave her one more kiss before drawing his head back to see what Wendy so generously offered to his gaze.

His tongue nervously moistened his lips as he saw for the first time the curves of Wendy's breasts. They were pale and beautiful, tipped with nipples that looked like coral in the moonlight. Peter glanced hesitantly up at Wendy's eyes, which seemed to regard him with a gentle permission that outshone the warring shyness. "Yes," she whispered with a slight tremor in her voice. "Please."

Lowering his head, Peter tasted the skin of Wendy's breast, both curve and nipple, and found them to taste, like her lips, of starlight. Her shaking hands came to hold his head, her fingers twining into his tangled hair, not pressing his head toward her, but rather simply holding him, caressing his scalp as he caressed her body.

Pressing his face between her breasts, Peter breathed deep, inhaling the scent of Wendy, more concentrated than he had smelled it before. He wanted always to smell that scent, to take it into his own skin so that it was a part of him. He never wanted that scent to leave him. The scent of Wendy's skin. The scent of his love.

Bringing his lips once more to hers, he kissendyendy eagerly, bringing his hands to frame her face, so that his bare chest lay against hers. At the first touch of her breasts against his bare skin, Peter jerked slightly in surprised reaction. In the next instant, however, he seemed almost to devour Wendy's mouth with his, meeting her own desire with his own, his body lowering to press against hers, her legs once again parting to allow him to lie between.

Peter's body was throbbing with need, but he was trying desperately to fend off the build toward the lightning strike. The last time, Wendy had insisted that he take her home immediately afterward, and he did not want for this night to end. Afraid that it might happen unexpectedly, as it had their previous night on this hillside, Peter nervously decided to speak.

Disengaging his lips gently from hers, he began hesitantly, "Wendy?"

"Yes, Peter?" Her voice was husky, and her eyes in the moonlight seemed almost a physical touch, both combining to send a shiver down his spine.

"What happened last time," he ventured. "It will probably happen again." Her arms came up to hold him, her hands caressing his bare back. Peter's eyes closed at the feeling, his mouth opening in a soft moan.

"What do you mean?" Wendy asked, now tilting her head upon her grassy bed, watching him with some confusion.

Peter opened his eyes once more to look down at her. "When I ... I cried out..." he stammered, regretting that he had even broached the subject. Perhaps he could have simply prevented the lightning strike somehow, and thereby avoided this awkward conversation.

"When you seemed to be in pain?"

"Wendy, it isn't pain. It's ... it's ... pleasure. It feels good when you touch me, when I touch you. It isn't painful. When it happens ... it's ... wonderful." A faint blush touched Peter's cheeks before vanishing again into the night.

Wendy whispered softly, "Wonderful?"

Peter nodded, gazing down at her with a hunger neither of them truly understood. "I wish I could show you. I ... I dream about it."

"You dream about giving me pleasure?" Peter nodded. "But, Peter, you do."

Shaking his head vigorously, Peter insisted, "This is different."

Wendy hesitated a long moment before asking quietly, "Show me?"

Peter cursed his stupidity for having begun this conversation. He felt like an idiot. He loathed admitting when he didn't know things, and usually avoided such situations at all costs. "I don't know how," he admitted, nearly gritting his teeth at the humbling admission.

A small furrow appeared on Wendy's normally smooth brow. "What?"

Peter floated slowly down to lay once again by Wendy's side, his bent elbow allowing him to rest his chin upon his hand. He did not meet her eyes.

"You aren't the same down there," he mumbled.

"What did you say, Peter?"

"Well," Peter's lips tightened and his brows drew together. He was determined to explain this if it might be his way to learning how to make Wendy cry out as she had in his dreams. "When I feel pleasure, it ... it ... well ... there's this one part of my body ... and it feels best ... there ... and I think that's where the feeling comes from..." He hesitated, not wanting to hurt or embarrass Wendy by pointing out her missing parts. But she was still watching him expectantly.

Gesturing vaguely below Wendy's waist, Peter mumbled, "You don't have anything down there."

Wendy frowned. She knew of the differences between men's and women's bodies. She had, after all, seen her brother Michael flee bathtime on countless occasions, only to be chased persistently by Nana.

When Wendy had come of age, her mother had also explained how men and women came together, but there had been no discussion of pleasure. Wendy knew that Peter was different between his legs than she was, and why ... but she was beginning to wonder if what he was describing was somehow related to the throbbing she felt after her more exciting dreams, and when they kissed at the window.

"Peter," Wendy began patiently, "men and women have different ... anatomy. You have a ... er ... you have what you have ... and I have ... something ... different."

Peter did not find this vague explanation in any way helpful. Wendy had something different? Were they even talking about the same thing? He hadn't felt anything between her legs when he had been pressed against her body. He wondered if she might be lying for some reason, trying to hide something from him. Perhaps even making fun of him.

Having little shyness about his own body now that he had a point to make, Peter loosed the leaves from around his hips and legs, and let them fall away. Between his legs he was still hard and hot and eager, despite their uncomfortable conversation. He gestured to himself and explained impatiently, "You don't have that."

Her shocked eyes momentarily diverted by the size and girth of the appendage in question -- for it certainly looked nothing like Michael's -- Wendy nonetheless became quickly impatient, too. "I know that!" she snapped. "I'm not an imbecile."

Peter narrowed his eyes. Had she just insulted him? This conversation was decidedly out of control.

"Women have something else between their legs," she explained with a deep blush which she endeavored to ignore in the interest of clearing up this confusion.

Peter eyed her in obvious disbelief. "I didn't feel anything there," he accused.

Wendy's eyes went round. "When were you feeling there?" she squeaked.

Peter rolled his eyes. "When I was between your legs, dummy."

"Do not call me a 'dummy'," Wendy replied frostily.

"This whole conversation is stupid," scoffed Peter. "I don't know why, but you're lying. I didn't feel anything there. I'm not an 'imbecile', either, you know." If nothing else, the conversation had served to dampen his own physical excitement. He no longer felt even remotely near to a lightning strike.

Wendy leapt abruptly to her feet, nearly knocking Peter over onto his back. He stared up at her in offended surprise. What was she doing now?

Much to his shock, she began angrily unbuttoning her nightdress the rest of the way. When she had reached somewhere about her thighs, she simply let the gown drop and stepped out of it, her face defiant.

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Author's End Note: I'm enjoying this clash of the dry anatomical knowledge vs. the instinctive working knowledge. I've based Wendy's knowledge of sex on a story often told in my family. My mom has frequently claimed that when she first told me about sex when I was 3 (due to my very pointed and insistent questions after our dog gave birth on my bed), that "she told me everything she knew about sex, except that it was fun." Heh. So I imagine Wendy knowing pretty much that Tab A gets inserted into Slot B, and not a lot else, and certainly not that it's supposed to be fun. Peter, on the other hand only knows that it's fun, and doesn't even know that a Slot B exists. Yet. Hee. I amuse myself.

5 more chapters to come. No pun intended.
- 5
- 6
- 7
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Awakenings